Before They Learn To Swim
by Threnna
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a navy captain, capturing law disobedient individuals at the governments bidding. One day, this brings him across a very special belonging to one such villain. A merman. Which he is to bring across the ocean without any misfortune. /AU
1. Chapter 1

It was the pub keeper's most prized possession. And rightly so. Many were the eyes that gazed upon it every day in amazement and curiosity. Safely secured in its transparent container it was an unequalled artefact.

"You have to take them before they learn to swim, that's the secret Captain." The pub keeper grinned at the man at the opposite side of the counter. Said man gave but a subtle nod in return, eyes never leaving the stage. "Got it when it was barely a new born."

This granted the pub keeper the other's full attention. The man turned slowly toward him, eyebrows lifted slightly in level-headed surprise. "Do you not fear their kind's wrath?" he asked. The keeper laughed.

"That's why my pub is on land and not on a boat," he winked. "I have no need to journey anywhere that would require a boat, so I feel quite safe."

Both the men returned to staring up at the stage. Then the man –a Captain- spoke up again.

"I'd like to buy it."

The keeper jerked a little. Then he laughed again –though if possibly, in a more polite manner than before. "I'm afraid it is not for sale. It is an important part of my economy, after all."

The Captain looked him briefly up and down, returned his gaze shortly to the cylinder tank on stage, before nodding. "I understand," he said. "There must be quite a lot of coin in possessing something like that." Taking a swig of his drink, he watched the pub keeper over the rim of the tankard, his eyes hid in shadow from the weather worn hat on his head. At his words, the keeper's eyes twinkled, and a pleased smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

"Of course," he said, adding lightly, "But a respectable man must have more than one stable income."

A small smile passed briefly over the captain's face, mirroring the pub keeper. "Of course," he said. Then he paid for his drink and left the crowded pub, the few chosen individuals of his crew that had stayed subtly hidden in the room following suit and unnoticeably.

They walked casually a few streets down until they reached the small town's harbour, where they boarded one of the ships docked there. Once inside and below deck, the captain shrugged off the coat and hat, which had served as a perfect disguise these past three weeks, before turning to his assembling crew.

"We have our man," he grinned.

Back in the pub, the pub keeper smiled to himself at the attention his _artefact_ was granting him, as that marked the fourth person to ask to buy it just this day. To him, the evening and night had been of the best kind, and it continued on as it always did. How sad that he did not know what was to happen seven hours after the captain had left through his door.

For, said number of hours later, when the last, slow guest had finally left the pub's doorstep and the keeper himself had locked up for the night, he was not aware of the mob standing silently outside his backdoor as he finished the last of his tidying.

He knew nothing, before there was a firm but relaxed knock on the door at the back of his small storeroom behind the counter area. He walked over to it, opened it, feeling as peaceful as a man could at the end of a good day's work. That peace however, was shred to pieces as several naval uniforms and a brightly smiling face met him.

"Can I help you?" he asked confused.

"Yes, I believe you can." The first in the crowd of navy personnel stepped in through the door, still smiling. To the pub keeper's utmost confusion, and slow horror as he gradually pieced the puzzle together, he recognised the face of the assumed pirate captain who had been such a generous guest at his house the past few weeks. The man looked around a little, as if it was his first time there, probably just an act he had learned at whatever navy school he had attended. He turned to the pub keeper again.

"Pardon the late intrusion, but my name is Captain Alfred F. Jones, of the British Empire navy, and you are Daniel Smith, a heavy smuggler our government wants to put behind bars and make repay all the money you have swindled us for." It was not spoken as a question. And all the while he was smiling, politely with an ever so slight hint of a grin. However, he kept his mood in check; one had to keep professional when executing these things. Alfred Jones had not made it all the way to the rank of captain to behave like an idiot when on a mission.

Meanwhile, the poor pub keeper's face had just grown whiter and whiter. By the end of Alfred's short speech, he even tried his luck on a futile escape. He got one and a half step backwards before Alfred's men had him tied up and locked securely in irons.

"Alright, you all remember the government's orders; search the premises and anything suspicious looking you can find, we will be taking with us." The crew scattered like well-trained dogs, two remaining by the pub keeper to guard him. Alfred joined his men and started a more thorough touring of the house than he had had the pleasure of doing before. Sure, they had managed a great deal of scouting and figuring-out through those past three weeks, but one could only do and see so much when pretending to be an unimportant, and as un-sensational guests as possible.

They were just wrapping up and getting ready to leave as Alfred threw a last glance around, halting as he came to look upon the cylinder glass tank reaching from the floor and almost all the way to the ceiling on the low stage of the pub. The extra iron bars had been pulled down for the night, making escape positively impossible. The _artefact_ inside had kept silent, barely moving, the entire time they had roamed the house. And as Alfred stared, it stared back, and he found that even after three weeks this creature never ceased to confuse and oddly entrance him. Its emerald green eyes shone dimly in the sparse light. By the door the crew stood waiting. Alfred remained silent for a few moments.

"We're bringing it with us," he then said finally. The confusion hitting his crew was as visible as a tidal wave.

"Excuse me, sir," the quartermaster cleared his voice carefully. "Do you mean the merman?"

Alfred smiled. "Yes, I mean the merman. The orders were to bring back anything out of the ordinary, and if this isn't, I don't know what is." The crew exchanged a few glances. Worried glances.

"Sir," the quartermaster said again. "You do realise that merpeople are capable of _special_ things?"

"I do." Alfred replied patiently. The quartermaster licked his lips, glancing at his mates.

"Merpeople are not known to regard humans lightly. This merman in particular has been kidnapped by one. I must admit I would worry for our safety if we were to have it on board." The crew looked at each other again. Their captain was not unreasonable, they knew that. If there was something they did not like or did not feel safe about, he was very generous in letting them have their way. But he could also be rather stubborn at times.

"We are the government's men, the navy, what would we be if merely the fear of what _could_ happen kept us from completing a mission?"

The eyes of the crew clearly stated they did not see the "_merely_" of this whole situation. Alfred snickered a little, but his smile softened.

"I promise nothing will happen to us. If anything, we will just return the merman to the sea if they get angry. I will make sure nothing happens to any of you, so there is no need to worry." And though the crew wasn't really convinced there was anything even their brave, big-hearted captain could do against a sea of seething angry merfolk, they found they had no real protest to come up with and a few of them began heading toward the glass tank.

They stopped a few metres from it, looking a moment in awe at the creature. It had its tail bent up lazily in front of it, leaning half against the bottom and half against "back" wall of the cylinder, looking at them from across the translucent fin. It probably took them several minutes to dare their way close to the glass, the creature not moving at all. Had it not been for the open eyes clearly watching them –and the fact that it had not floated to the surface, Alfred thought in absentminded humour–, it could just as well have been dead.

They found the bolts and screws keeping the tank fastened to the floor, and soon had them loosened.

"You don't have a cart or anything of the like, do you?" Alfred turned to the pub keeper, who had been standing silently next to them, and now jerked to life at the question. Numbly, he just nodded, probably too out of it to really think much.

"Out the back," he said hoarsely. Alfred nodded to two men, who went outside and soon had the double front doors open and the cart ready by the stage.

"Carefully," Alfred announced, stepping onto the stage to help his men. It took all of them -except for one to stand guard the pub keeper, just in case- to tip it over as gently as they could and get it onto the cart in a lying fashion. It took them quite a while too, as well as their fair share of grunting and groaning, to get the whole job done –and to get it done as silently as possible at that. The hour was late, and they would rather not have the entire neighbourhood wake up to the smashing of a glass tank and a merman sprawled on the local pub floor.

"All right, good work everyone," Alfred said after they had secured the tank to the best of their ability on the spot. They proceeded to make their way out of the pub, leaving behind disorientated chairs and unlocked front doors. "My apologies this all had to happen so late," Alfred walked next to the pub keeper, his quartermaster leading the party. "But I didn't want to evoke more attention that needed, so this was really the best time."

They made it through the streets somewhat unseen –"somewhat", because they were actually seen. Both by late drinkers and people happening to throw a glance out their bedroom windows. But it was not like anyone dared intervene with any of the navy's men, so they reached the ship without any hindrances, got the – former – pub keeper under deck and in one of the three cells they had, before they got the glass tank on board as well.

"Secure it to the bulwark between the two cannons over there. We can find a better location for it later," Alfred instructed, the tank, still lying down, was securely tightened to the sturdy bulwark before the crew members in charge of this task backed away –a little quicker than a calm man would.

Alfred said nothing of it however; it was not like the merman didn't affect him as well. He gave the helmsman their heading, the ship gliding away from the harbour in the night.

All the while, he kept an eye with the creature in the glass tank. It had its green eyes locked at the harbour, never looking away even as it got smaller and smaller in the distance, an expression on its face that Alfred couldn't read.

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><p><strong>an: **

**Edit: 19.08.2013**

**Bulwark – the railing around the deck of a ship, the "plank"-like thing laid on top of the edge is called the rail. **

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><p><strong>EDIT: 7.29.2012<strong>

**Audio version of this chapter: **www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=ry8Z0CaVqrk ** I hope you will enjoy it, and if not, then at least you got to hear what my voice sounds like. xD (as if anyone's interested in that)**

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><p><strong>(The old, original an):<strong>

**I have been having this story in my head for weeks, and finally decided it was time to get the first chapter on paper. -Or on a word document, at least-. ****Scr*w school not really giving me any spare time to do these things. **

**Also, this is unbetaed, so if there's anyone out there who wouldn't mind betaing, I'd be so happy. I have asked so many different betas now that I've lost count. And either they don't answer or they disappear on me. ...So I've sort of given up. But please. I'd be so happy. **

**And a small note: I made Alfred a navy captain of the British Empire, as I imagine this to happen at the time of Port Royal. And that was around the 1600s (before it was destroyed by an earth quake or something in 1690-something), and since we all know the American revolution was in 1776, I figured he'd be in the British Empire navy. –Mostly because I have no clue if America had their own navy before they became independent. I know, I fail. X) Though if I have done wrong in deciding this, feel free to correct me. **

**Please tell me what you think. And please ignore how ridiculously long this a/n is. -_-**


	2. Chapter 2

They had been at sea for a day, and Alfred and the rest of the crew were faced with one very crucial problem. Of course they would preferably not evoke any misgivings or bad feelings with the merfolk somewhere below the dark blue, and though they did not know exactly how to manage this, they supposed that making sure the merman survived would probably be a good step in the right direction. And though none of them really knew any more about merpeople than what stories could offer them, they could only conclude that merpeople, just like humans, got hungry.

However, here came the conundrum: the lid through which the former pub keeper had stuffed food and changed the water was at the top of the cylinder. A cylinder which at the moment was lying on its side, which again meant that, were they to open it, the merman and all the water would spill out. And that would really work against its purpose.

So as the helmsman and Captain Alfred took turns on the wheel, and they all otherwise just went on with their everyday tasks, they talked about this. To push the cylinder in an up-right position would be dangerous as it could then easily tip over and break against the deck. Could they take the chance of only opening the lid slightly, not caring if a little water escaped? But would not the merman try to escape then? Or perhaps they could bust a small hole in the glass, through which they could stuff food. But glass was fragile, and chances were that if they did so, it would crack further than just the intended hole.

As they went below deck for dinner, Alfred finally said, "We have to get a new, custom-made tank." Every head present turned toward him, falling silent.

Alfred rubbed his forehead. "We will make port in the closest harbour and order a tank of the glass master there. Until then…" he frowned, studying his plate. The closest port was a couple days away, and even then they would have to wait for the tank to be made. He didn't know how long a merman could go without food, but he had his doubts it could go that long.

"Until then we will have to make a small hole –it's risky, I know," he hurriedly added as some of his crew looked ready to protest. "But we can't risk it dying on us either."

A murmur went through the crowd of men, but no one said anything aloud. Alfred lifted his head to find the ship's three carpenters with his eyes. When he did, one of them cleared his voice -if a little uncomfortable and clearly doubting, but said nonetheless: "If we don't get caught by bad weather, the glass tube should be able to withstand a small hole for a few days. It will weaken the glass considerably, but with good weather…" he trailed off; it was not necessary for him to continue. Alfred nodded.

"However," one of the two other carpenters spoke up. "I would like to use a proper glass cutter for this, and not just smash the tank open." Alfred nodded again. "…which we don't have," the carpenter finished.

None of them knew exactly how safe what they were doing was – or maybe rather how _un_safe. Merfolk weren't exactly captured every day; most had not even seen one, much less tried to transport one. As he looked out across his crew, finishing his dinner, Alfred knew they would all rather chuck the merman overboard and rid themselves of any danger that having it on-board brought upon the ship. He decided not to say anything about it. When the crew wanted to bring up this issue, they would – yet he could not help but want to make it back to the colonies with their special cargo.

He rose from his seat and handed his plate and cup to the cook. But, he thought as he headed for the stairs to lead him back up on deck, he would stay true to what he had said. His crew would not be harmed should the merfolk's attention indeed be brought upon their ship. That was his task as captain, after all.

Alfred returned to the helm, allowing the helmsman and the remaining crew members on deck to get some food as well. The half of the crew downstairs had returned with him, and was now filling the deck. The wide circle invisibly drawn around the glass cylinder, though, was obvious as he stood there watching them, and he could not blame them. They visually and physically avoided the tank and the creature inside it altogether to the best of their ability, even though their conversational subject hardly left it for more than a few minutes at a time. He himself, however, was barely able to take his eyes off the merman. Its sea green tail glittered in the sunlight, softened by the water surrounding it. Always was its gaze turned toward the ocean, that same unreadable expression on its face whenever he looked at it. Hopefully it was not contacting other merpeople with some strange sort of power.

Hopefully.

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><p>Alfred left the helm two hours later to retreat to his cabin, documenting that day in the captain's log, afterwards going through a few maps and sea routes with the navigator. If the winds were with them, they would reach Plymouth the day after tomorrow. Alfred nodded, his navigator tracing a finger along the English coast. He stared at the map thoughtfully, chin in hand, discussing lightly with his navigator about where and how and what would be smartest. Outside the light was slowly dwindling away, the sky starting to take on a reddish hue.<p>

The navigator left an hour later to get some sleep as he was to stay watch later that night, and Alfred followed him out on deck. Pulling in a deep breath, the fresh winds and salty scent of the ocean filled his lungs. The amount of people on deck had lessened, as those who were not on the first guard duty or guard at all, had started to file off to bed. Alfred took a small round about the ship, speaking shortly to some, laughing with some, and bidding others a good night. By the time he returned to the deck, only a few men remained, scarcely spread and minding their posts in peaceful silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the glass cylinder, only half see-through in the dimming light. Alfred tightened a few ropes and checked a lantern for oil. All the while, he kept glancing over at the glass tank.

He carried on, puzzling with small, simple tasks here and there across the deck, the whole time slowly and gradually closing in toward that one spot. But the creature didn't move. It lay silently staring out into the ocean. Alfred couldn't even see its face from where he stood – even if he stretched his neck or leaned to the right, he could not get a glimpse of it.

By the time he realised what he was doing, he had been standing still for a good while; long enough for the sun to dip completely below the horizon and the oil lanterns to be the only thing left lighting up their surroundings.

Frowning and pulling in a deep breath half against his own will, he squared his shoulders and walked determined toward the glass. His shoes made no sound against the boards and the merman made no move whatsoever. In the end, he was standing right in front of the glass, and as he gazed down, he could spot the green eyes through sandy blond locks that were floating silently about the creature's head. Still there was no reaction.

Then he did something others would have declared him reckless for: he abruptly crouched down, giving the glass four firm raps with his knuckles.

The reaction was – not immediate. In fact, there was none at all. Alfred stared intently through the transparent surface. Not even a twitch of the tail to acknowledge his presence. He had half expected to be staring death in the eye, only now contemplating that perhaps that thought had been a little melodramatic.

However, as he lifted his hand to give the glass another set of taps, a little harder this time, the creature turned.

Leisurely and slowly, it rolled over elegantly in the water with seemingly no effort, settling against the bottom once again when fully turned toward him. Green orbs stared at him. Alfred stared back. For several everlasting seconds he was at a loss of words. Then:

"Are you hungry?"

Ah, yes, ask it a reasonable question. Alfred could have kicked himself. Here he had a magical, rare creature right before him and _that_ was the first thing he said to it. Chances were it couldn't even hear him through the glass.

And if it did hear him, what were the chances it understood English?

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><p><strong>an: Hello, and thank you so, so, SO much to all of you who reviewed the first chapter. I never expected to get that many for one small chapter. And I'm sorry it took so long for me to update, and that I haven't replied to any of your reviews, but my review alert thingy was turned off, so I didn't know I had gotten any reviews on this story. I first discovered this yesterday.<strong>

**And I know this chapter is short, but rest assured they will get longer when I get properly started. ;D Thank you so much again, and please review and tell me what you think. Now that I have taken care of the alert-thingy, I'll be able to respond to you all as well. **

**And a big thanks to astro . pancakes, who betaed this for me. :D **

**EDIT 19.4: www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=kWH016h6Q8A This chapter in audio format. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred's head hit the pillow. It was still night, the stern lanterns of the ship the only source of light outside his grand, arced cabin windows. He stared through his fingers at the dark boards making up the ceiling above his head, while silent billows rocked him and his ship in soft throws.

It had looked at him. The creature had looked at him, and it was as though its eyes were seared into Alfred's mind. Those deep, green eyes.

Alfred pinched his eyes shut, curtly shaking his head.

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><p>"Are you hungry?"<p>

Alfred was not entirely sure of exactly what he had expected to happen, actually. A vocal response? An abrupt movement -or sign language perhaps. But he told himself with a mental kick that he should have expected what he got, which was nothing.

"We will reach the port of Plymouth in a couple of days," he carefully pressed on, eyes trained on the slightest of changes with the creature. But still it showed no sign of comprehending, or at all hearing, his words. "In two days, the day after tomorrow," he supplemented, in case the merman had not understood.

Silence enveloped the two. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alfred wondered if none of his guarding crew had noticed him and what he was doing by now. However, he found he could not make himself turn around to look; his eyes wouldn't –or perhaps, _couldn't_- tear away from the being in front of him.

The only sounds to breach the night air was the murmur of a nearly still ocean beneath the hull, and the dull ripple of the water inside the tank lapping against glass in time with the ship's gentle movements.

"You think you can hold on until then?"

Alfred twitched, lightly startled by the words. That was, until he realise they had been his own. Puzzled he pulled in a deep breath. Cool night air rushed down his throat and filled his lungs. It cleared his brain and got rid of a sluggish drowsiness he had not noticed was weighing down his body.

"It's a grand port. We will be able to get a better," and he gave the container a quick once-over with his eyes. "Confinement," he said.

He reacted several seconds after it happened; his brain used oddly long to register the hand suddenly touching the glass. Alfred jerked his head backwards, putting abrupt distance between himself and the tank, heart skipping a beat. The pale hand pressed flat against the translucent wall, the creature shifting ever so slightly so that it could lean forwards.

Alfred didn't notice it himself, but as the creature slowly came closer, looking at him, so did he. He barely even blinked. They were mere centimetres apart now, the glass between them, Alfred's shallow breaths briefly fogging it up with every short exhale. The creature titled its head, still looking – no, _examining_ him, Alfred absently realised – with big, sea green eyes that never needed to blink in the salty sea water surrounding it.

Then the creature suddenly slumped back, lay against the curved bottom of the glass tank, face turning back toward the seemingly endless sea.

It took several minutes before Alfred rose. When he finally did, he slowly made his way to his cabin, on slightly wobblier legs than he would later admit to himself.

Once inside the four walls of his chamber, he leaned against the double doors to close them, still leaning against them when they had, and gazed at the arced windows at the opposite end of the room. And for several minutes again, he did not notice his thoughts drifting away and leaving him in a heavy silence. He had to jerk himself back to reality. Quickly finishing up for the night, he resigned to his bed, staring up at the broad board planks, wondering where he should go from here. Needless to say, sleep took a long time to conquer the navy captain, and when it finally did, he did not notice crossing its thin borders.

He dreamt.

He was out on the deck, feet bare, feeling the unevenness of the wood beneath him. It shifted gently under his feet, but it was a familiar movement, one that eased him and made him feel at home. Then he started walking. It was completely quiet, no waves, no wind, no nothing, apart from a glass cylinder at the end of his path. Inside it was a face, with deep, big eyes, that watched as he came closer. Watched as he did not stop, but in one motion smashed his hand through the transparent surface. As blood trickled from his forearm and hand to blend with water gushing out from the hole and across his feet, the face smiled. The eyes danced, and they lay out before him, deep and vast as the ocean itself. He lost his footing, overbalanced, and fell into the salty, dark green water.

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><p>"<em>YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"<em>

Alfred woke up by a shrill scream splintering his ears, which had yet to end when he jerked into an upright position in bed. It was dark, and he could barely see a hand before him. That did not stop him from throwing away the covers of his bedding and storming blindly to the doors. Under normal circumstances, he would have noticed the stern lanterns having gone out. But not now.

He slammed his doors open, seeing other members of his crew spring onto the deck, confused and in disarray, but all searching for the comrade the scream had come from.

Alfred's eyes roamed the deck, heart in his mouth as he too ran out into the cold, night air. He spun around, several times, calling out to all of his crew, but he could not see wh-

There. His heart just as well stopped cold in his chest. By the bulwark, glittering sickeningly in the light of a half moon, shards of glass littered the deck floor and a wide hole gaped at them from the glass cylinder. However, what made the crew stop and freeze in the flash of an eye was the man half pulled in through the hole, the arms that clung to him and the red that made such elegant yet nauseating swirls in the water.

A horrid moment passed, breaths caught in the back of throats as no one moved.

"_Let him go!" _Alfred roared, and though the rest of his crew stood as glued to their spot out of fear they would accidentally threaten the merman to do something drastic, Alfred strode forwards with thundering steps.

-But he did not get far. Two steps, his bare feet managed to make, then he stopped dead in his tracks. For, from across the seemingly lifeless body the creature looked at him and _smiled_. Tasting iron in his mouth, Alfred looked down to his right to discover a mass of fresh cuts running down his right forearm and hand. His entire body went cold.

Then a voice rung through the air. But it was not Alfred's and it did not need to roar to be heard. Instead, it seemed to fill the air effortlessly.

"Thank you captain, for the most generous offer, I was rather hungry."

Alfred felt sick to his stomach. His surroundings seemed to swirl unsteadily before his eyes, so much so that he had to physically shake his head to clear his vision. He had no time to waste dwelling on that, not right now. He forced his feet to obey him and ran across the deck to stop right in front of the container; gun pointed right at the creatures head.

"Release him," Alfred ordered, voice deep and deadly calm. The creature said nothing, just leered up at him as it let its teeth sink into the arm of its prey. A weak moan came from the man, sending a short rush of relief through Alfred. The sailor was still alive, only unconscious –for now.

"Now," he growled and cocked the gun, a small click sounding that would make any normal man flinch and hesitate. The creature did neither.

For a long moment that could have only lasted a few seconds, but felt a lot longer, they just stared at each other. The amount of red tainting the water grew and when the creature made a small movement of pulling the man further in, Alfred finally snapped. He lunged out, took a hold of the man with one hand, the other shot into the water and grabbing hold of the creatures jaw.

He yelled an order, three men rushing up to grab the unconscious man. Alfred now had his other hand free as well, grabbing one of the creature's arms before pressing the thumb and index finger of his first hand roughly into the corners of the creatures mouth, forcing its mouth to open and the teeth loose from its victim's arm.

"_Now_," Alfred barked, the three men hoisting the fourth out of the hole with the most care they could afford at the moment. The very second the man was safe Alfred gave a hard shove and let go of the creature. "_Seal this thing off! Use any means necessary, I will not see any more of you fall prey to this beast._" All of the crew began to move at once. _"You three, get that man to the physics quarters."_ The three men carrying the bleeding man between them disappeared below deck, another man – the ship's physician, Gervase – following suit. "_The rest of you, all hands to stations, we sail through the rest of the night!" _A loud and many-voiced "_yes sir!"_ sounded across the deck and Alfred spun around, heading in a fierce tempo toward his cabin. "Quartermaster, navigator, my quarters, now."

The door to the Captain's cabin slammed shut, and despite the late hour and the black sky, the ship seared with life. They would all be extremely tired in the morning, Alfred knew that. They had only gotten a few hours' sleep, and regardless of what happened, to sail at full speed during the night was not a wise thing to do. This whole ordeal in itself would put a great strain on the crew's energy. However, he doubted any of his men would be able to go back to sleep now anyway. They would just have to sort it out with the sleeping when morning came.

Alfred, the navigator and the quartermaster spent the rest of the night looking at maps trying to decide the fastest way to get to Plymouth. They discussed the crew's well-being, and how they would divide sleep and work the upcoming day. Alfred did not tell them of the dream he had had or his damaged arm and hand, even though the two other showed modest interest for it. _Modest_ because they both sensed their captain's reluctance toward the matter, and they already had enough to deal with, should they not also start forcing information out of him.

When the first rays of sun finally hit the vessel, and the ball of light and warmth climbed higher up on the sky, the lack of sleep was evident on every man of his crew's face. But they had the winds on their side, and no one seemed too keen on slacking off on the work just yet. Alfred announced they best all get some food, and they arranged to head for galley in groups. Alfred himself went up to the helm to relieve the helmsman and let him go get some nutrition as well. The quartermaster took it upon himself to fetch food for Alfred, which Alfred ate whilst steering.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the glass container, its midsection covered up with thick fabric and ropes. It did not cover the entire tank though, making the creature inside still partly visible. Alfred tried not to look at it, but even so, he was still very aware of the creature's eyes no longer staring into the ocean, but instead never leaving him for a second. Alfred got the odd, distant sensation that it was waiting. For _something_.

After everyone had had their fill, Alfred told the quartermaster to organise for the crew to get some rest throughout the day, granting each of the men a three hours rest divided in two groups.

Only when this had been done, his crew looking better than that morning, and the sun had long since passed midday, did Alfred called them together in the galley. He would have ordinarily done this outside on deck, however, he did not want to have the sea creature listening in on the matter he was about to discuss with them.

Alfred looked out across his assembled crew. Gervase, as well as the injured man, Adrian, were also present. The physician was keeping a wake eye at the latter, who looked a little hazy and wobbly in his seat, but otherwise all right –everything taken into consideration. Only the quartermaster was missing: the man was left up on deck to steer the ship. Alfred had protested, but the quartermaster had just smiled and said that no matter what happened below deck, he would support his captain. Alfred had thanked him, truly, from the bottom of his heart for his loyalty. Yet, the quartermaster's kind words did not lighten his troubled heart the slightest.

"All right," Alfred leaned his hands on the table in front of him. He was granted immediate and undivided attention. "I hope you are all feeling well," he began, receiving dutiful nods and smiles from the crowd, though none of them spoke so as not to distract him from his oncoming speech. "With tonight's work and the winds we are now experiencing, we will reach Plymouth by midday tomorrow. Our original plan, well," Alfred hesitated. The men exchanged a few glances. Alfred sighed, and closing his eyes briefly, he let his façade as navy captain drop.

"_My_ original plan," he said. For that was what it really had been. As captain he had every right to make these decisions, of course, but Alfred was usually no supporter of such totalitarian rule over a crew. This time had been an exception, and the blame was his alone. "Was that we made it to Plymouth, got what we needed of rations and a new tank for our," again, there was a slight hesitation, "_cargo,_ and sailed back home to Boston, delivering both the prisoner and the cargo to the government."

No one had made any gestures to oppose him yet. Alfred inhaled deeply, looking out across his men. To him, they were the best crew a navy captain could ever hope to be equipped with.

"However," he said, exhaling heavily. "We all saw and know what happened tonight." Alfred tightened his right hand subconsciously. "And if that was not alarming enough, there is something else that has me doubting if we should continue like this. You see, the one who made the hole in that glass container in the first place," his eyes locked with Adrian, before moving to the helmsman and navigator. He owed it to his crew to tell them. "Was me."

They reacted as he had expected. Disbelief, confused murmuring between themselves, denying statements and then silence when Alfred lifted his right hand. The cuts, a red disarray of varying depth and length, stood in stark contrast to his skin. Alfred told them of how he had tried to speak with the creature, receiving nothing, and the dream that followed, which had clearly not been a dream at all.

"This _creature_ has the power to temper with our minds and actions," Alfred's face was tucked in a deep, serious frown. "Even if we have it out on deck for everyone to keep an eye on, I do not have the self-confidence I can keep you all safe from its power." A few mouths opened to protest, but Alfred stopped them with a pained smile. "It is my responsibility as a captain, to ensure your safety. The fact that I made the hole in the container without even being aware of what I was doing, worries me the most. I therefore propose we throw this creature back to the ocean and prey its kind's possible anger will be soothed with that."

The silence that followed was a long one. The men looked at each other, not entirely sure what to believe with their captain standing in such a manner before them. Gradually murmurs broke out between them again, which then escalated to loud talking and discussion. At first, the opinions were divided, but as their voices grew, they egged each other on.

"I agree," one said. "It is a danger to us all to have that _thing _on board."

"We should cast it back to whence it came!"

"_Hear, hear_."

"We were lucky Adrian even survived! Next time we might not be so lucky."

Alfred remained silent the entire time, allowing his crew to speak their minds and nod determinedly with each other. He looked at his fingers pressing down into the wooden table in front of him. They were right, it would be best to get rid of the creature. Yet, he could not help but imagine what possibilities would open for them if they managed to return home with it. They would be able to learn things about these beings that none had before them, maybe even ways to protect sailors on sea from the claws of these creatures.

Meanwhile, the crew had started talking of how and where to drop the thing – whether they should wait until they got closer to land, or if these things also lived out here in the more open sea. When they asked Alfred what he thought, he had to admit that that was something he had not thought about and didn't know. Someone suggested they could ask the bar keeper down in the brig, but someone else protested, saying it would be a bad idea to bring any more attention to the prisoner than highly necessary.

Then, as they seemed to reach the peak of their discussion, they were interrupted by the sound of a glass shattering. Abrupt silence enveloped the galley. When they turned around to find the source of the disturbance, they saw Gervase about to pick up the pieces of a glass the injured Adrian evidently dropped in a moment of drowsy clumsiness. Adrian coughed at all the attention, but right before everyone turned back to their earlier discussions, he spoke:

"I think you are all letting your feelings run away with you in the heat of the moment. I think," he stopped, frowning as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "I agree that yes, it is dangerous. –Obviously," he grinned lopsidedly, drawing a few awkward laughs here and there. "But I also think this is an opportunity beyond what we could have ever hoped for. Just think of what we could do with one of the merfolk in our custody. And think of what the government and people will say when we return home with such a creature." His grin widened. Then it fell, and he sighed wearily. "But all joking aside, everyone, we have had the honour of sailing under the command of Alfred F. Jones for five years now. I have yet to experience him letting us down, or exposing us for unnecessary danger. I have also yet to experience him failing our government in a mission. We are all capable men, sailors and soldiers. We are men of the navy, and we currently have the rarest booty in our custody ever to be brought back from a mission. No one's even dead yet, and here we are already thinking of abandoning it."

Askew nodding heads and blended murmur billowed through the crew, though Gervase sighed and handed Adrian a new glass of water. "I cannot raise people from the dead. This may well be the rarest loot, but it is the most dangerous as well." A slight pause followed. The crew mulled this over in their minds. However, the feelings that had raged and spirited them on a few minutes before had now settled. They spoke in a more level-headed demeanour this time. It took them twelve minutes and a half to come to an agreement, turn to Alfred and pledge their loyalty to him and the mission in an air of sudden solemnness.

It was with a strange breath of relief he hadn't even known he was holding that Alfred returned on deck and up on the helm. The quartermaster turned to look at him when he came, a smile lighting up on his face when he saw his captain not buried under a worried expression.

"How did it go?"

Alfred smiled back. "Toris, I-"

"How did it go, Captain?" the quartermaster repeated, a gentle expression of his face. Alfred laughed a little. Right. They were still at work.

"Well, quartermaster," he said, turning to look out across the quickly swarming deck. His face fell thoughtful, and slowly he told his quartermaster what had happened. The man didn't interrupt him, quietly steering the ship until Alfred was done. Even then he did still not say anything. It was not necessary. The two of them had worked tightly together for many, many years, and with a nod the quartermaster left the helm to Alfred and retreated to the lower deck.

They worked in a steady tempo, the good wind remaining with them for the rest of the day. When the crew finally began signing off for a good and proper night's sleep, Alfred could see their optimism. Tomorrow they would reach Plymouth, and somehow that had become a strong light at the end of the tunnel.

After a few hours, Alfred was relieved from his post by the rough and silent helmsman, and resigned to his cabin. But he could not sleep. Alfred twisted and turned in his grand bed, its sheer size and covers a sign of how far he had come since he started out a small cadet. Yet even for the softness of his bedding, the rocking of the ship and silent calm engulfing it, he could not seem to ease himself to sleep. He remained looking at the ceiling, or wall, of his cabin, depending on whether he had turned onto his side or back.

It wasn't hard to conclude the former night's events the reason for his restlessness, but even though he made himself aware of this, he could barely close an eye. So he didn't. He followed the stern lantern lights' soft movements, listening to the creaking of wood. When he heard the sounds signalizing the second guard shift of that night however, he finally decided this did him no good. Swinging his feet out of bed and down onto the floor, he stood, walking out on deck.

Millions of stars met him from a clear sky. It was like a vast, black ocean overhead, lit up by the reflection of countless lanterns. The winds had quieted, only a cool breeze remaining to tickle their clothes and make Alfred's bare feet feel slightly cold. He turned a little, looking up to nod in a soundless greeting to the helmsman who returned the gesture. Then he walked quietly once around the deck. He followed the rail, alternating between looking at the black waves beneath and the black vastness above. Eventually, his slow walk ended in front of a half covered glass tank. Alfred told himself that was purely coincidental. Though, in the back of his mind, he had been aware of the green eyes following his every move since he first closed the cabin door behind him.

The sea creature leered up at him. Interesting how its more or less expressionlessness had ebbed away after attacking a man.

"Now what are you scheming?" Alfred asked, looking long and hard at the creature. Well, as hard as he could, what he was staring at taken into consideration. The creature idly waved his translucent tail fin.

Alfred frowned a little. "I know you can talk, and I know you can both hear and understand me," he said. A small smile stretched the creature's lips. Then they parted and moved. They formed words, but Alfred could not hear them. He could barely hear a low, muffled mumble past the glass and thick fabrics.

This must have shown on his face, for the creature shifted, coming closer to the glass. It looked up at Alfred, then at the fabric and rope sealing off its tank. It raised a hand to gently touch it, before pressing against it; a movement Alfred could see as slight bumps from the outside. Then the green eyes returned to him. Alfred lifted his brows a split second, but then he laughed.

"Oh no," he squatted down to come at eye level with the creature. His laugh was only a short one, a smile lingering for a brief moment longer before dying away as well. "You won't make me do it twice. We will give you food," he tugged a little at the fabric, straightening it out slightly. "I don't want to see you die aboard my vessel. However, I will not see you attack any more of my men either. Their life will come before yours no matter what happens."

The creature locked eyes with him. For a split second Alfred had at the tip of his tongue to say sorry and take back his words.

Then the creature slouched back, Alfred frowning at himself before standing, and with a "good night", went back to his cabin, the creature's eyes following him dully.

* * *

><p>"Captain!"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>an: <strong>

stern - rear-end of a ship. Stern lanterns - rear-end lanterns.

**Alright! First off: I'm so so soo sorry for taking so long. I promised myself I'd get this chapter up quickly. I mean seriously, I've got 20 reviews for two chapters and that is new to me. :D I'm so happy and honoured you people have no idea. So I thought I'd be good in return, but noooo. ,_, blame it on the finals. **

**Then, secondly: I hope you all got through this chapter. It's a lot longer than the previous two, and not all that much interaction between Alfred and Arthur, but it's coming! I promise! In the next chapter~ But yeah, I felt it was necessary to show how the crew would react and such, so... **

**And THIRDLY: I'm gonna list Alfred's crew here. :D I didn't introduce them in the first two chapter because I wanted a sort of anonymus feel, but now it's time. :3 Alfred's crew consists of the different states and capitals of America. I thought about having different nations first, but that would just be too messy I think. But I didn't want just Alfred and Arthur to be the only proper Hetalia characters at the beginning, so Toris is in Alfred's crew, as you all saw. So without further ado, here they are: **

**Quartermaster - Lithuania - Toris Lorinaitis **

**Helmsman – Alaska - Eska**

**Navigator – Rhode Island - James**

**Weaponsmaster – Texas - Andrew**

**Physician – North Dakota –Gervase**

**Boatswain - Ohio - Michael**

**Look-out – Oregon - Aaron**

**Carpenter 1 – Wyoming - Daniel**

**Carpenter 2 - Nebraska - Charles**

**Carpenter 3 - Missouri - Mark**

**(the rest of the crew: other states and capitals. Alfred's crew consists of 60 or 70 men or something. I don't know how big a crew of that time was, so if you do, please tell me.) **

**And: If you don't agree with some of the names, or know of something that sounds nicer or fits better, then please do voice your opinion. :D Names that sound real old are good. Also, they all need surnames. And now I'll stop rambling, and hope to see you all in ch 4.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Captain!"

Alfred was disturbed in his sleep. It took him a few seconds to process the word and voice through the sleeping haze in his head, but then his eyes flew open and he was up on his feet reaching for a gun when his doors burst open.

"Captain!"

Alfred would have picked up the gun and sprung out, had it not been for the man blocking the doorway and the smile his face. "We're here. The port of Plymouth."

* * *

><p>It had been a long time since Alfred had been this relieved to see a harbour after just two days at sea.<p>

He had entered the deck fully clothed a few seconds later and ever so slightly perplexed. Once out in the fresh air, he was informed by Toris that they had decided to let him sleep when the captain had not awakened on his own like usual. Alfred frowned and sighed at this, saying that next time they should wake him, but still appreciated his crew's thoughtfulness.

Two hours later they were safely docked, had paid the docking fee and made sure the ship was ready to be left alone. Alfred had his entire crew assembled on the main deck, standing in front of the open part of the bulwark where they would soon slide out the gangplank.

"Carpenters, we need one finished tank and material to make three more. It's a long way home, so we have to be prepared. Ask to let the tank have one glass side so we can at all times see the creature. Cook, please take care of our food supplies, as always. The rest of you have the day off. Dismissed."

Cheerful chatter broke out amongst the crew, and as soon as the gangplank noisily hit the harbour, they left in small groups or on their own. Alfred would have loved to go off and enjoy the sunny day with them, but instead thanked them and declined their offers. There was something he had to take care of first.

When half the day had passed however, he had had no luck in his endeavour. He had entered store upon store, which all had a wide display and variety of goods, but not even the smallest trace or word of what he was looking for. He was hesitant to ask the clerks for help as well, as his request was something he didn't want associated with his name or profession.

By the time he had roamed every shelf of the third grand bookstore his thoughts were entertaining the idea of what he was looking for to be a taboo subject within the world of literature. He was also starting to wonder if there were any bookstores left for him to search through.

It was with a deep frown on his face and a sigh that he ate dinner at a decent looking restaurant before returning to the ship. Some of his crew stayed in an inn on land. Others had chosen to save their money and come back to the ship, like him.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, throwing a glance to the right as he stepped onto the ship. There was the glass cylinder like before. He had expected glistering green eyes to meet his, as the creature had seemed to follow him relentlessly with its eyes wherever he went since yesterday. However, that did not happen. Instead the creature was turned away from him, staring at the harbour. Its face had resumed the same unreadable look from when they had first brought it on-board. He took a few steps toward the cylinder tryingly. How the creature noticed that from inside the glass tank, he did not know, but it must have noticed it _somehow_, for it cast a quick glance at him. Then it returned its stare to the harbour. And though its face remained as expressionless as before, Alfred got the sudden feeling of a vague form of restlessness.

* * *

><p>Alfred had gone straight to bed, but felt nowhere near rested when he woke the next morning. Mark, one of the carpenters, had informed him that the ordered tank and material was being prepared and were well underway. The cook could also inform him he had made orders for provisions to last them the long journey back home. All of it good news.<p>

What was not so good however, was when Alfred found a bookstore he had not searched through yet.

He had in the end accepted the fact that he would probably not find it on his own. The stores had far too many books making it all too easy to overlook something vital. So it was with a very polite cough, and a making sure not too many people were within earshot, that he had addressed an elderly woman at the fourth bookstore.

"Excuse me ma'am," he had smiled, the woman returning the gesture. "You would not happen to have any books concerning mermaids by any chance?"

The woman had looked surprised, before her face took a turn for the grimmer.

"No," she said finally. "I'm afraid we don't have that."

In other words, still no luck. It was the second day, and it was already half pas-

Out from nowhere, a small boy snatched the silver pocket watch from Alfred's hand and ran off. There was a rough tug as the chain snapped free from his coat.

"_Hey! Stop!_" Alfred was already in hot pursuit. This was certainly not his day, he thought, as he rushed down the street and around the corner after the child. But he could not keep up with the small boy for long, and soon the child had climbed a wall, much resembling a squirrel, and Alfred decided to give up. At any rate, the boy's clothing had looked fairly tattered and worn out. It would not hurt to let him keep the watch.

He pulled a hand through his hair, straightened his naval uniform and turned around to walk back –only to have a shabby sign reading _bookstore_ stare him straight in the face. To be precise, it did not say that exactly, as the _e_ had been almost entirely replaced by a long crack in the wood. The tired sign, hanging surprisingly straight, belonged to an equally tired looking building. As a matter of fact, Alfred was nowhere close to the wealthy, neat looking part of the town. He was in a small alley, old, worn rows of houses surrounding him. He was about to head back the same way he had come, when he changed his mind and entered the store.

He looked around. The inside looked just like the outside, and it showed signs of having been in this business for a very long time. And, Alfred thought to himself while reading a few book titles, was probably more prone to have what he sought.

He had just reached out to peel a particularly old looking book from an over-stuffed shelf when someone spoke behind him.

"Are ye looking fer anythin' specific?"

Glistering green eyes met Alfred's when he turned around. His heart all but stopped. For a moment he thought the merma- no. The green eyes were accompanied by red hair, clothes and _legs_. It took a second for Alfred to collect himself, then he cleared his voice, and still a little baffled, he said:

"I am looking for books on mermaids." He did his best to clear his mind without making anything visible of it.

"Och really?" the man raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. He looked Alfred up and down. "A marine like yerself?" The man's eyes really were very much alike the creature's.

"Yes, books on merpeople," Alfred affirmed with a forced smile. The man looked at him for a little while, but said nothing. Instead he turned around and headed for a particular part of the store.

The man must have been out fishing or working at the docks, Alfred mentally noted. For as the man walked, he could hear an unmistakable squelching sound; the man's boots were clearly soaked straight through. If the sound was not a tell-tale sign enough, the little tracks of water trailing after the man across the floor, were.

The red haired man dragged his finger across the back of a few books, then pulled out two. He dusted them off without there really being any dust on them – the place was surprisingly dust-free, Alfred noticed –, briefly looking paging through one of them before handing both to Alfred.

"There we are. Tha'll be four sixty."

Alfred thanked quickly and found the required amount from a leather pouch on the inside of his coat.

"Cheers." The red haired man pocketed the money, following the navy captain to the door. "Have a good day, sir." The door was closed, and Alfred slowly returned to his ship and waiting crew.

* * *

><p>"And so everything will be ready to set sails by tomorrow night, Captain." Daniel, one of the carpenters, finished his short rapport. Alfred nodded.<p>

"I have to say, Captain," Aaron said. Several pairs of eyes glanced at the look-out. "It's one of the good things about being part of the navy. People know to let our matters come first." Acknowledging chattering spread through the group of men doing the early preparations for the long trek home. "It is the one reason I joined, after all." Laughter broke out, Alfred joining them. He then left them to the work and returned up on deck. All the lanterns were lit, the dark sky shrouded by thin clouds. Yet despite the night creeping in, the seaport town was far from sleeping.

Alfred crossed the space between the door leading below deck, to the bulwark and the drawn gangplank.

"We will be moving you into a new confinement tomorrow," he said, leaning against the sleek wood of the rail. Glancing down, the creature was not looking at him. Its eyes were still locked on the harbour. Just like the night before. Alfred frowned, crouching down. He was at the far end of the cylinder, so no thick cloth hid parts of the creature from him.

"I know you can hear me through the glass," he said. Still the creature did not look at him. But a small jerk of the fin did occur, and Alfred took that as a sign that the creature had indeed heard him. Yet he didn't continue speaking right away. Instead he stared at the harbour as well, remaining crouched down by the cylinder.

"What do you see?" he asked finally after a long, silent while. The creature turned to look at him, the faintest trace of wonder on its face. It looked back to the harbour. And if his mind or the night was not playing with him, Alfred believed he saw a small furrow between the creature's brows.

When Alfred in the end stood, his eyes were still looking at the creature, deep in thought. Then, slowly, he said, "You are not going back to a pub. Don't worry." He waited. But nothing happened. There wasn't a single movement with the creature. It appeared to have returned to pretending not to hear him. After waiting a bit longer, Alfred retired to his cabin.

"_Don't worry."_ What was that for a thing to tell such a creature? Alfred shook his head to himself. Did they at all feel anything? He stopped in the doorway, briefly glancing at the cylinder. Clearly, it seemed, they did feel _something_.

Frowning, he pushed the thought away, and awoke to a sunny day and more good news the following day. Their orders had been taken care of and the rest of the day was spent loading barrels of food, water, and ale onto the ship. Halfway through the day, the building materials they had ordered were brought on-board, and after dinner had been served and devoured, the new tank came as well. It was made of wood, sturdy as a water barrel, with one glass side.

After a bit of discussing, they agreed to have the tank on deck. They could also lower it down through the loading hatches and store it bellow, but down there it would be easier for the creature to ensnare them with its powers and eat them without anyone noticing. No, the deck was the safest place. Everyone could keep an eye on it there.

They fastened the tank to the bulwark next to one of the cannons on the opposite end of the already existing cylinder tank. The cylinder was on the port side of the ship, close to the helm. The new tank was also on the port side, only on the other end by the forecastle. They would move the creature once they were out in open waters. As long as they were by the harbour, there were too many eyes present to watch and pose unnecessary questions.

They left in the early hours of the following morning. While men worked on raising the sails, Alfred told the cook to have some food ready. As soon as they had moved the creature, he intended to make it eat something.

They cast off. Alfred stood at the helm, steering the ship and watching his crew swarming about on the main deck. He gave a few instructions, feeling a good breeze ruffle his clothes. It would be a nice day. And as they began floating away from the dock, Alfred looked down at the sea creature. Still it had its face turned to the harbour. He could not see its eyes, but even so he followed where he believed its gaze went and looked at the harbour as well. People there went about their ordinary business. They were a few hundred yards away when he suddenly jerked.

He recognised one of the people there. Amidst the crowd, standing by the edge of the dock looking at them, was a man with red hair. In its cage, the creature pressed its hands to the glass, staring back.

Then the wind took a hold of the sails and carried them away from the seaport.

About an hour or two later, land an indistinct mass on the horizon, Alfred called out, "Helmsman!" The man in question was up at the helm in minutes, Alfred descending to the main deck. "Now," he said, the present members of his crew all looking at him."It is time to move the creature." The atmosphere immediately tensed.

More of the crew came up on deck. "Navigator and you two," Alfred pointed to two men. "Please help me, the rest of you have your weapons at the ready." No time was wasted to follow the Captain's orders. The tank had been filled while sailing out on the open sea, and now one of the men opened the lid again. The navigator hesitantly began undoing the ropes keeping the thick fabric in place around the cylinder. Alfred watched the creature. It watched them straight back. Alfred pulled in a breath.

"Don't struggle and no one will get hurt," he said. The creature looked at them through the gaping hole of the cylinder. If it were to struggle, it would be a mighty challenge to get it out without wounds; the jagged edges of glass glinted in the sun light. Pausing, Alfred eyed the hole. It was big. But not that big. It was not big enough for two people to get a hold of the creature at the same time. Someone would have to lift the creature halfway out of the hole first, before anyone else could get to it. And, Alfred thought as he looked at is assembled crew, that someone would have to be him.

"You two," he spoke to the two men he had already pointed out. "When possible, grab hold of the tail and we will carry it together to the tank." The entire crew looked at him. The two nodded mutely. When it came down to it, none of them, captain and crew, had ever been in a situation like this before. It was not exactly an everyday thing. How, exactly, did one go about moving a sea creature, a _merman, _from one tank to another?

No one said anything as Alfred stood in front of the hole. He looked at the creature. For a short moment, he hesitated. How was he supposed to lift it? It was not like he could just reach down and the creature would reach back up and cling to his neck, exactly. The best way would probably be from the back, holding around the creature's chest. However, he knew that were their roles reversed he would not have appreciated being manhandled like that, and he felt certain the creature was probably of the same opinion. But then again, he didn't have much of a choice.

Widening his stance for better support, Alfred folded up the arms of his coat and slowly reached down.

His hands passed through the opening of the glass. The creature looked at them with that expression Alfred could not read. He hesitated for a short moment again. He had already touched the creature once, he told himself. This time though, the life of his crew members was not at stake. He quickly collected himself; this was not the time to hesitate. Reaching out, he carefully pushing at the creature's shoulder to get better access to its back. Then, very gently, he snaked his hands under the creatures arms and loped them across its chest. He could feel the creature immediately tensing up. But it didn't struggle.

Alfred tested his footing, then steadily and gently hoisted the creature's upper half up through the hole. The crew was staring. And Alfred couldn't blame them. "Grab the tail," he said, his words jerking his two helpers awake. They glanced quickly at each other, then braved their hands at touching the scale covered surface. Alfred could downright see the hair raising on the back of their necks, and he could likewise feel the body in his arms tensing up even more. But it remained remarkably still, even so.

As he waited for the two men to secure their footing, he suddenly had time to actually notice exactly what he was carrying. The creature's skin was pale, and smooth to the touch, but it was cooler than he would have thought. It was not downright cold, but still lacked the warmth of a human being. It was strange, how this creature could look so much like a human, yet they were entirely different beings.

Alfred tightened his hold around the creature's torso as he saw his men ready to move. It had a slender build, and was thin from a life locked in a glass tank. Under his left forearm, he could feel the faint sensation of a heart beating hard and fast. He looked down at the being in his arms. In a sudden feeling of sympathy he lifted the creature a few inches higher up, hugging its slender frame just a tad closer to himself.

Together the three men got the rest of the creature out of the cylinder and then began making their way step by step toward the new tank. The creature was a lot heavier than it looked, so they took it slow. Yet it was still not as heavy as Alfred would have expected when counting the full length, and thus the possible weight, of the tail. He had a sneaking feeling the pub keeper had not set nutrition very high on his priority list. Being without food for six days now had surely not made it any better, either.

The two men looked relieved when they could finally heave the tail gently into the new tank, let go and back away. Alfred walked the few, small remaining steps as he eased the rest of the creature into the water on his own. When he let go, the creature sank straight to the bottom.

"Did you prepare the food?" Alfred turned to his spectating crew, the lot looking close to mesmerised. One of them – the cook – moved, disappearing below deck and returning quickly enough with a "here, sir". Alfred thanked him, turning to the tank with a plate carrying chicken and different greens. "You must be hungry."

The creature however, had its tail curled up in front of it, shielding it against the back wall from the rest of the world. Alfred took that as a no with a sigh. "Very well. But if you get hungry, just knock on the glass." He returned the food to the cook; he did not feeling like dirtying the water by just empty the plate in the tank like one would do with any other ordinary pet fish. The navigator closed the lid gently, and slowly the rest of the crew returned to their chores and posts.

Alfred returned to the helm, only to be joined by his quartermaster a short while after.

"Captain, are you all right?"

Alfred glanced at the worried face meeting him and immediately grinned widely. "Of course," he said, calmly handling the wheel. "You saw for yourself, the creature did not do anything. Besides, I have already touched it once before. I am fine," he assured the quartermaster, who in turn smiled, nodded and retreated to the deck. Yes, the creature had really done nothing. Not even the slightest hint of protest.

And so continued the rest of the day, with good winds and no important events. As the sun dipped into the sea, Alfred gave the wheel over to the stoic helmsman and retired to eat, write in the log and go to bed. Just as he did the last of the three however, his gaze swept over two books piled on his nightstand. He recognised the two books he had bought a few days ago and picked them up, slowly flipping through one of them as he sat down on the bed. He came to think of the man who had sold them to him, the shabby bookstore's clerk.

His hands stopped at a fortuitous page, Alfred's eyes resting thoughtfully at it without reading. He wondered what the man had wanted when he came down to the docks. Could Alfred have forgotten something in the store? Or was there something the man had wanted to tell him? Alfred's head hit the pillow heavily, book still in hand. The port of Plymouth was far behind them now. He supposed he would never know.

* * *

><p>Like this, the captain had been left to another night of endless staring at the ceiling before he finally fell asleep, and had awakened what felt like seconds later to a brilliant morning and a seemingly cheerier crew than what they had been the past few days.<p>

Having the sea creature safe inside a container that did not have a big hole in it and threaten to burst open any minute had apparently made them feel safer. The bright weather and a steady breeze making their sails bulge nicely was probably not to put underneath a rock either. The boatswain Michael could also inform Alfred that the crew and ship were fit and ready for the long journey home. There was every reason to be cheerful, and Alfred was soon in as good a mood as his crew.

But oh, the irony that what appears so good should lull a man into a false sense of security. Or so would Captain Alfred's thoughts be several hours later. Had he still had his pocket watch and paid attention to the time, he would have noticed another irony as well: almost seven hours passed from when he woke up to a good morning and to when everything went straight down. Almost the same number as it had been for the pub keeper.

To be exact, six and a half hours after he had left his bed, his ship was plunging down a steep, gigantic wave, toward a bottom seeming to be far too far away.

Alfred's commands could be heard as hollers through the roaring wind and ocean. Continuously waves crashed into the main deck, men skidding and losing their footing and fighting to win it back as they wrestled the winds and tried keeping the ship's ropes under control.

Rain pelted his face, constricting his vision to an absolute minimum. His cheeks stung; every man on-board was soaked to the bone and two barrels of important content had already been washed across the railing to the wild waters below. They thundered into another steep valley of a wave, the ship's joints groaning, but she held. Alfred wringed the wheel around, doing his best to turn the vessel so that the down-coming wave would hit them from behind and not the side. The day was still just in the early afternoon hours, but the sky was dark as midnight.

"_Get that last sail down!_" he bellowed through the wind, a big rift already making the white cloth flap violently.

"Captain!" a man gasped, clutching onto the stair railing leading up to the helm. Alfred didn't spare the man a single glance, his eyes not straying from the ship and the treacherous ocean on every side. The ship heaved and careened dangerously, the man clinging on for dear life as another spray of ice-cold salt water hit them. "Captain," he gasped again. "This is the work of merpeople, it must be!"

Alfred's eyes automatically roamed the deck. So was he not the only one whom that thought had grazed. He could spot the tank between his struggling men. Their awareness and fright of coming close to it had been completely erased by the raging storm. He grit his teeth. He would not let his crew die here.

"_Helmsman!" _

The stoic man was at his side in the matter of moments. His sharp eyes bore through the storm and he grabbed the wheel without a word. Alfred was down the stairs and halfway across the deck in the same amount of time. Water sloshed at his feet, the winds tearing at his clothes. Despite this he was soon at the other end of the deck, clasping onto the rail with one hand so tightly his knuckles protruded from his skin, the other slamming into the wooden lid of the tank.

"_Is this your doing?" _He stared intently through the glass and water. Big, green eyes stared back. The creature shook its head. Only once, without a word. "_Is this your people's doing?_" Another curt shake of the head. They still kept eye contact, and somehow Alfred could not bring himself to doubt it. He nodded once, firmly. "Good."

"A normal storm we can handle."

Alfred turned around, scanning his ship briefly through the beating rain. A lone man was struggling with a rope. Alfred fought his way across the strongly slanting deck, waves constantly washing over them, and reached the man. He grabbed the slippery rope, and as he helped tie it down, hair pasted to his scalp, he bellowed: "_Steady men! These are not enchanted waves._"

They were words of encouragement, and though it did not do much amidst the raging ocean and murderous winds, it was something. Alfred made it back to the helm, grabbing the wheel with both hands.

Then something happened. One of the port side cannons broke lose. It rolled down the sloping deck to hit and break the starboard bulwark and disappear overboard –or so it would have, except it did not. A wave built up underneath the ship on starboard side, sloping the deck the other way and the cannon followed the notion. It rolled back toward the port side, two sailors just barely avoiding it, and it crashed right into the tank tied to the port railing.

No one had time to care for the glass shattering everywhere, or the water spilling out on the already drowning deck. No one had time to care about the creature pulled out of the tank by the water current and sent skidding along the wooden boards as the ship did another heave and careened to the opposite side again. Some saw it, some didn't, but none had any capacity to spare to do anything about it.

Alfred was one of those who saw it. As he struggled with the wheel, busy taking care of his ship and crew, he briefly thought that it probably was for the best. He did not have the capacity to worry or take action. His first priority was his ship and crew. The creature would be reunited with its own.

Then Alfred caught a glimpse of something else.

As the creature tumbled across the deck, hands seeming to claw at the planks, the long emerald tail doing nothing to halt its skidding, Alfred caught a glimpse of wide open green eyes. They shone with one unmistakable feeling: fear.

It was like a punch to the gut. A split second Alfred saw the pub from the small seaport town. The bar keeper's voice rung in his ears.

"_You have to take them before they learn to swim, that's the secret Captain."_

Then it dawned on him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hi and thanks for reading ch 4. I hope you enjoyed it. And I'm sorry for taking almost a month to update <strong>_**again**_**. I want to be quicker, I really do, but apparently my brain doesn't agree. Though please, if it gets boring to wait, try reading some of my other stories in the meantime. I would really appreciate it.**

**And this chapter was betaed by the lovely astro . pancakes. Thank you so much. :) (her name is without the spaces, but somehow ff won't show the name unless I put spaces in it. -_- )**

**So, a few things: **

**For those who do not know: Port side is the left side of the ship when you face forwards and starboard is the right side. If you turn around and face backwards, port side will then be to your right and starboard to your left. **

**Then lastly, a small reminder of the crew positions: **

Quartermaster - Toris

Helmsman – Alaska – Eska

Navigator – Rhode Island – James

Weapons master – Texas – Andrew

Physician – North Dakota –Gervase

Boatswain – Ohio – Michael

Look-out – Oregon – Aaron

Carpenter – Wyoming – Daniel

Carpenter - Nebraska – Charles

Carpenter - Missouri – Mark

Cook – Alabama - Corey

**(P.S: I listened to "up is down" the entire time while writing this. That really has to be my favourite soundtrack next to "he's a pirate" from the pirates of the caribbean.)**


	5. Chapter 5

"_Helmsman!" _

Said man snapped his head up. Just in time to see his captain jump down the stairs and sprint across the deck, twirl the end of a loose rope around his right arm- and jump.

It was little more than a shot in the dark. The ocean foamed and seethed all over. But Alfred had had many years at sea; he had done this before, and above all, he was lucky.

The water hit him hard like a stonewall, and what little vision Alfred had left disappeared completely in a mess of bubbles, blues and greys. But the ocean was not the only thing to hit him. With no need to think he latched onto the other thing tightly the moment they touched, and forced his head above the surface, at once feeling a powerful tug to his arm.

Had it not been for the storm, Alfred would have changed his hold. The rope was slippery with seawater, and the creature in his arms was heavy. He would have loped the rope around creature's torso and tied it properly, had he had the possibility to. But right now, with waves that would have long since pulled them under had it not been for the rope, all he could do was hold on with whitening knuckles.

Another tug. It barely moved them in the foaming water masses. A pause, probably as the men redid their grip. Alfred prepared himself. The powerful tug that followed would have all but dislocated his shoulder if he had not. The rope was being pulled upwards, Alfred and the creature following with it, and slowly but surely they were pulled toward the bulwark far above their heads. They would slip a little downwards every now and again, sometimes because of Alfred, other times the reason being at the other end. As the winds and ocean tore at them, the woodwork of the massive ship groaning right next to them and the distant shouts of his crew sounding in the air, Alfred thought in brief humour that he would have to remember give those men at the rope a raise.

Soon the tip of the creature's tail also left the water, the two of them dangling by Alfred's left arm in free air. The salty water still licked at them, and waves washed over them time and time again, seemed to try to drag them back down. Despite the on-going water attacks, Alfred's experience had taught him better than to gasp for air, and he resisted the urge to cough when seawater forced itself down his throat. If he fell into that trap, he would just take in more water, and end up disoriented and loosing focus. And that meant death. He had seen it happen before, and lost many sailors because of it.

They were halfway up the ship's side when a wave thundered into them from the side. In a split second, water was all around them, then he got a glimpse of woodwork coming to meet them at high speed. They would crash right into it, the creature first.

Just before they hit, Alfred managed to get his right leg up, but not soon enough. It took away some of the blow, but he had hit it wrong. His foot slipped and he crashed into the ship's side awkwardly with his right shoulder first. Alfred bit down the pain. They were halfway. He banished the instinctive urge to let go of the creature to ease the surging pain, instead tightening his hold. The creature itself was not moving. Every muscle was tense and it did no move to either hold on or break free.

Finally they reached the bulwark, several hands grabbing Alfred's wrist and elbow and pulling him over the rail. Next, they grasped onto his shoulders as soon as they got the chance, to ensure they would not lose him. Alfred ignored the immediate amplified pain shooting from the shoulder joint and straight to his head, dragging the creature with him onto the deck.

There was no time for thank-yous. Everyone was aware of that. Which was why, as soon as their captain's safety on board was ensured, the sailors hurried off to posts and tasks where they were sorely needed. Alfred himself wasted no time hauling the creature with him across the slippery, treacherous deck.

Battling his way across, he reached the doors to his chambers and kicked them open. He hurriedly pulled the creature inside, the dry floor a blessing under his shoes. Alfred threw a quick glance around as a toss of the boat and a howling wind slammed the doors noisily shut behind him. There was the slightest of jerk from his arms. He looked down. The creature seemed to be in some sort of shock, mouth slightly ajar, eyes glossy and staring straight ahead. But the sound of the door had still reached through and made it flinch, though no other reaction to the sound was visible. Alfred frowned grimly as the hollers of his crew reached him through the door. He needed to go back outside to them. But he could not just leave this creature on the hard, wooden floor.

Another quick glance around and a hasty decision was made. He hoisted the creature up a little, hitching his left arm under its tail where a normal person's knees would be. He spun around on his heels, using their weight and gravity to turn around and half drop, half lay the creature on the grand bed located – luckily – not too far away to the right of the door. In his arms, the sea creature gasped nearly soundlessly at the harsh and abrupt movements not made the least bit gentler by the unsteady ship. A brief second, as Alfred let go to turn around and return outside, its fingers clung to his coat. Then they were gone and the creature was curling into a half circle in Alfred's quickly soaking covers. It made him hesitate for a second, opening his mouth to say something, but then another particularly loud yell sounded from outside and he ripped himself away, hastily turning to leave the cabin. Halfway to the door he stopped only briefly.

"Will you be alright on your own without water?" He looked at the creature again. It blinked owlishly at him in what had to be dumb surprise. Then it quickly nodded its head. Alfred nodded back, paused, said: "As soon as this storm has passed we will make you a new container." And hurried out.

Despite the violent careening of the ship, it had been a delight for his face and the rest of his body to be indoors those few minutes. Going back outside he was met by the pelting rain and merciless wind he so shortly had been shielded from. There was hardly more than just water on all sides as he struggled back up onto the helm, relieving Toris, who had substituted in the helmsman's and his absence. The calm and strong helmsman had remained down on the main deck to help after they hauled Alfred on-board.

While not even the slightest hint of blue peaked through the heavy layer of black clouds stretching out above them in all directions, they fought the ocean until every man was at his last. Their exhaustion was evident in their every move as Alfred continued to give orders and words of encouragement in turns. He was standing at the helm, hands firmly gripped around the wet wood of the wheel, his eyes trying to get a glimpse of _something_, anything, through the rain.

However, his right shoulder was giving him trouble. He had really hit it quite badly when being hoisted up on deck, but forced himself not to think of what damages could have been done. He didn't try to feel anything. The less he knew of the incapability of his shoulder, the longer he would last. He tried to compensate with his left arm, but the ocean pushed and pulled at the rudder and the ship as a whole, giving him no rest. Showing no mercy. Alfred found himself wondering briefly once, during the long hours of wind and darkness; when this was just a normal storm, what would one invoked by merpeople be like?

* * *

><p>"Captain."<p>

His hands were shaking, just ever so slightly. His clothes were more than soaked, clinging to him. The hat he so proudly had received for his promotion five years ago was long gone. To the left of him, just at the top of the stairs leading from the main deck to the helm, stood the quartermaster. His mouth was slightly ajar, chest still heaving in that ragged fashion it does after hours upon hours of exertion. But his eyes shone.

"Captain, we did it."

Finally, Captain Alfred's hands could release the wheel, and he did so slowly. Then he replied the quartermaster with a wide smile, "Yes, we did." And he let out a deep sigh of relief as he closed his eyes momentarily, and when he opened them again he couldn't help but laugh.

Next to the quartermaster, another man made his way up the stairs. "Good leadership, Captain," the helmsman saluted as he set foot on the helm. Alfred turned to him, wide smile still on his face.

"Thank you," he rested a hand on the helmsman's shoulder, his face easing into a calmer expression. There was more to those two words than simply gratitude for the compliment. They both knew, and the helmsman gave Alfred a silent nod before he grabbed the wheel so Alfred could descend to the main deck and the rest of his crew.

"Good work, men," he said as his feet touched the deck. "Well done all of you." He looked at all the sailors gathered by the main mast in turn.

"All thanks to you Cap'n," the lookout exhausted, but cheerfully, countered. An equally exhausted but spirited cheer supported the statement. Alfred grinned lopsidedly, nodding in mute recognition. No man could ever come and say Captain Alfred did not have a special relationship with his crew, in comparison to the stiff and formal captains one would normally encounter in the navy. Still, regardless of that, protocol was protocol.

"Quartermaster," Alfred said, regaining the stance and voice of a higher officer again.

"Yes sir," the man in question took a step forwards and saluted.

"Is everyone here?"

"Yes sir, everyone present and accounted for. No casualties or grave injuries."

Alfred nodded. "Good. Boatswain," he then called.

"Yes sir," Michael, the boatswain, stepped forwards.

"I want a status rapport of the ship's condition within an hour."

"Right away, sir."

"Carpenters." Captain Alfred turned to the three men who had taken a step forth. "We will be in need of a new tank, so I will leave that to you. But don't overexert yourselves. If you are too tired, do it in the morrow. A weary man's work can easily go wrong." He smiled at them, and they saluted steadfastly.

This was about the moment when half the crew looked very curiously at the captain, and the other half discovered the ruined – not to mention empty – tank by the bulwark for the first time. Not all of them had had the opportunity to notice the action taking place on the main deck amidst the hustling storm and all its business. Thus, the matter of the "loose" creature was now on everyone's tongue.

Soon the ignorant half was informed of what had happened by the ones who had in fact seen it, and all turned to Alfred in curiosity – and slight anxiousness – to hear what was to happen now. And, more importantly, exactly where the creature was at the moment.

"The creature is in my cabin," Alfred said, a sharp inhale from every crewmember immediately following as each and everyone's eyes darted one split second to the door of his cabin and then back to him. Aaron, the lookout, was the first to say anything and voiced what everyone was probably thinking.

"What did you put it in?" Only Aaron could speak such a question without a moment's hesitation.

"My bed." Alfred replied. It was not like he had had anyplace else he could 'put it'. Most of the crew masked their surprise well, not even batting an eyelid. The lookout on the other hand gaped, and the quartermaster's eyes flickered. Alfred sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Yes. I will deal with it for now. Tomorrow we get it back in a tank and decided where to place it. I think we can all agree that putting it on the main deck again will be to ask for more trouble."

"Captain, if we make the tank without a glass side, it should not be a problem to place it out in the open again," one of the carpenters commented.

"If the glass is still intact, I want you to make the tank with a window so we can at all times see what it is doing," Alfred said. Then he nodded to the quartermaster as a sign for him to take charge as he retreated to his cabin.

The crewmembers soon scattered upon the quartermaster's bidding. Some to take down the sail that had been ripped to be repaired, others to see if anything had been knocked loose inside the ship, and if so, tidy it up. But first and foremost they were given leave to swiftly dry off and put on new clothes, as well as get something to eat. A few men who had suffered light injuries during the storm were sent with the physician under deck.

On his three metre walk from where he had been talking to his crew and to his cabin, Alfred was lost in planning all they had to take care of once the following morning came. His own thoughts and ponderings had buried him so deeply that he a split second forgot what was expecting him. When he had stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he was abruptly reminded.

The creature's head snapped around to look at him at the sound of the door, green orbs staring at him from the bed. For a short moment, Alfred could see a wide-eyed expression on its face, a series of different feelings mixed in its eyes; confusion, disorientation, careful curiosity and a dozen other notions Alfred really could not blame it for. After all, it had probably never been in a bed before, or felt the softness of a duvet, or the fabric of it, for that matter. It had most likely never been this long outside the tank for who knew how many years either. It had every right to be experiencing mixed feelings.

However, upon his entry, it was a moment later replaced by sharp eyes and a scowl making what could only be described as a guarded look.

"Good to see you are all right," Alfred said, forcing himself to look unaffected as he walked past it and over to his dresser. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the creature watching him carefully. _Oh well_, he mumbled to himself. He found a basket and started dumping his wet clothes in it as he took them off. He grimaced as he had to lift his arms over his head to get the undershirt off, this movement jarring his shoulder in a most unpleasant way.

When all the clothes of his torso had been disposed of, he found a towel and started drying off. Meanwhile doing this, he threw another discrete glance at the creature. It was still watching him from the bed. It still had the same guarded look as well, though he could spot a certain form of curiosity beneath it, which he with light amusement realised had to be because the creature had probably never seen this course of action before.

He stopped a brief moment in his drying, letting the towel rest across his shoulders as he began removing his bottom half clothes. Really, the creature had been locked away in that one room of the pub for years upon years. There had to be quite a lot the creature therefore probably had never seen before. Well, yes, it had most likely seen both a little bit of this and that during his stay there as alcohol tend to make people do quite a lot of different things, but even so.

Alfred dried off completely, the warm feeling of being dry starting to flow inside his body. He got out a new uniform, more or less alike the wet one, and began getting dressed.

Sometime during the undressing of his lower half, the creature had started looking about the room again. Alfred and his actions had not been deemed a threat anymore, Alfred concluded, catching himself in staring a little longer than just a glance at the creature every now and then.

Now while he got dressed again, the creature was shifting between looking at the door and occasionally at him. The still guarded look made it seem as though it expected someone to come jumping in through the door and attack at any given minute. The creature's nervousness – if it could be called that – was understandable, but Alfred knew no one would come and left it alone. He closed the drawers of his dresser, making a mental note of doing something with the wet clothes before he went to bed later.

For now, however, he needed to tend to his captain's log and a few other documents of procedure and whatnot. So he made for his neatly polished desk, and the softly cushioned chair, in the middle of the room close to the wide windows.

"You're hurt."

Alfred stopped dead. For a few seconds he stood like frozen, the words seeming to linger in the air. Then he turned around carefully, just halfway masking his surprise. The creature was frowning a little at him, but the guarded look had been lowered.

"Your shoulder. It's hurt." It said, almost as though it was stating an observation, but with a quiet voice. A small smile cracked Alfred's lips, and he nodded slowly. He felt both a little dumbstruck and in wonder, but suddenly also a lot more at ease in the company of this strange being.

"As soon as my men have been cared for and gotten some rest, I will go to the physician," he said and walked over to the desk, sitting down in the chair, now with his back to the creature. "It is not the first time I have been hurt during a storm, and by far not the worst I have experienced," he continued in a comfortable tone, opening his leather-bound logbook and popped open the inkbottle's lid. "It's no hurry."

Silence wrapped around them, and when Alfred finished readying his writing material, the scraping of an ink pen against paper was the only sound to be heard. He could feel the other's eyes on him as he wrote –as well as a prickling ache for every movement he made with his hand, but made no sign to notice neither.

"You must care a lot about your crew."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up as the only reaction of surprise, but then his facial expression turned for the warmer, and he was smiling down at his log as he spoke.

"Yes. I have quite the diligent crew. They do what they are told and give their all for a mission." He paused for a second, dotting a stop to a sentence. "…They would give their lives for me had I craved it. They are good, honest men." He threw a glance across his shoulder at the creature. Big green eyes looking at him from across the edge of a delicate fin met him, and in them Alfred thought he could see the same wonder he had been feeling moments before. The creature eyed him for another short while before it took a shallow breath, seeming to be about to say something more.

Alfred turned in his seat toward it. He could feel his senses tensing gradually and straining to pick up any sound in an odd sense of curiosity. The creature's mouth opened.

Then there was a knock on the door. Three sharp raps followed by a "captain, may I come in." The creature's head had whipped around at the first rap, all its muscles tensed at the second, its tail curling up closer to it at the last.

"E-" Alfred rinsed his voice. "Enter."

The door handle was pushed down and the door swung open. In the opening stood Michael, the boatswain, a sheet of paper in his free hand. "Captain, I-" then he saw the creature on the bed and froze on the spot. It was probably just for the best that his attention was so severely averted too, for it gave Alfred the chance to collect himself, more thoroughly rinse his voice and dress his face with his normal smile.

"Don't worry about it," he said to the man. The boatswain looked at him, swallowed and nodded.

"I have a list, captain," he said, painfully obviously trying to keep his eyes from wander to the creature on the bed again. He handed the paper over to Alfred who took it and quickly skimmed through it.

"Good," he said once he was done, giving the list back. "No serious damages either."

"Yes captain, we were lucky. I have sent some men to address a few of the damages, but since their nature is not so dire, I thought we could postpone the reparations for tomorrow."

"That sounds good," Alfred agreed. "It's getting to be late, too." The boatswain nodded and saluted shortly. "Sir." He was about to leave when Alfred came to think of something else.

"Since you are here," he said thoughtfully, halting Michael midstride. "Do you know if we have any spare hammocks?"

"We do, sir," the boatswain said hesitantly. "Do you want me to get you one?"

"If you don't mind," Alfred gave him a wide smile. "My bed is rather wet at the moment, so I doubt I can use it."

The boatswain glanced over at the bed at these words, eyes hitting the creature and immediately looking away. He behaved almost like the creature was a young lady, and the tank had been its clothes, Alfred noted to himself in humour. But, he quickly pushed that thought out of his head, not blaming the sailor for his behaviour. The boatswain saluted quickly one more time before disappearing out the door.

Alfred turned to the creature in his bed. He was stopped from saying or doing whatever he intended next however, for the sun hanging low on the horizon was in just the right angle to send little rays of red and orange through the window. Some of the creature's scales caught and reflected the light, making them glittered like mat jewels, and Alfred stared, unable to tear his gaze away.

He had seen light mirrored by the creature's scales before, dark and dimly in the pub, brightly in the daylight on the deck. But that had always been behind a glass and in water, giving it a dream-like quality to it. Now, though their surfaces were not as sharp due to the lack of moisture, it appeared more _real_. It kindled a sudden want to look closer at them. Touch them.

They looked soft in the warm light of the sunset, and come to think of it, he had not gotten a proper feel of them yet. He had both grabbed and carried the creature on several occasions, especially today, but had not made any notice of their texture. The scales overlapped each other, but as he looked at them more closely, he was unsure as to whether it was the scales that were deep green, or if they were merely translucent and it was the creature's skin itself that bore the colour.

Following the softly curving tail with his eyes, he slowly reached the creature's hip. The scales did not stop in a straight border, but instead skin and scales gradually and unevenly flowed into one another. Alfred could remember what the creature's skin felt like, so much alike a normal human's hide. It made him wonder why the merpeople's skin did not become wrinkly like a person's when exposed to water over longer period of time. Maybe it was because of the temperature difference of their bodies. But more likely it was something else. Their skin was entirely different from a human's, consisting of other matter, merely made to look and feel like a human's to create a false sense of security with their prey.

He could not see his own reflection in the millions of small scales, but he could see a myriad of colours in each one, projected by the sunlight. They gleamed so beautifully, only for the colours to disappear when he came between them and the light source, himself casting a shadow over them. The urge burned within him, his blood felt alive with curiosity and want. So he reached out.

His fingertips gingerly met the creature's skin. It was smooth and firm under his touch, but dry this time in comparison to the day before –or earlier the same day, for that matter. His fingers slid downwards and met the first scales adorning the creature's stomach, soft and warm goosebumps prickling down his back as he did.

"Yes?"

The sudden sound of a voice was completely surreal in Alfred's ears. He was as snapped out of a dream. His eyes widened and he snapped his head up. He was face to face with the creature.

He had been standing by his desk, watching Michael leave. Now he was on all fours on the bed, fingers resting on the lower belly of a creature he would not have dreamt of coming within five yards of two weeks ago.

"Is there something you need?" The creature spoke again. Its guarded demeanour from before was gone. Like it had never existed. It eyed him calmly, Alfred feeling everything but. His throat had the same water consistency as a desert. _When_ had he ended up here? The creature's eyes glittered in the rays from the sunset. Yet something in him must have been stronger than one would expect, for when he opened his mouth, his voice had not abandoned him.

"I was about to ask you the same." As he spoke, Alfred found back the mobility of his limbs and began to crawl clumsily off the bed. "It will still be a while until the new tank is done. Will you be all right without water all the while until then? Or is there something we can get you." A short moment of silence between them followed, in which Alfred discretely straightened his coat a tad. Then the creature replied.

"A blanket soaked in seawater will suffice."

At that moment there was a knock on the door, Alfred managed to choke out an "Enter" in the surprise and the boatswain entered again. In his arms he carried a brown heap of fabric with rope attached.

"I found one sir," he said. "Shall I hang it up for you, sir?"

"No, that's alright. I can do it myself," Alfred hurriedly replied. "But I need an extra duvet and a blanket." He received the hammock from the boatswain and hung it over the back of his chair. He said that he would come along to fetch the remaining things, and followed the boatswain outside and down below deck.

They found a fitting blanket and duvet, and Alfred gathered them up in his arms. He made to return to his cabin. However, as he slightly shifted on the load the boatswain noticed a small wince he was incapable of masking.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

Alfred sent him a smile. "Yes, I'm fine. I only hit my shoulder."

"You should have it looked at," Michael said, frowning at his captain. "Gervase is going to be on the first guard anyway. He said he didn't mind, since he was mostly under deck and didn't help out much during the storm." Alfred sighed, but nodded, and allowed the man to lead the way. On the way, the boatswain also offered to carry the load for him, to which Alfred had to laugh, and said that he was just hit in the shoulder, not disabled.

When they reached the physician's cabin, said man was about to leave to attend his watch duty, but stopped when he saw the two. He immediately scolded the captain when he learned Alfred had intended not to address his injury before the day after. Alfred could do nothing but grin at the physician's strict preaching as he was led in to the cabin.

"I'll have this taken care of," Michael said and took the blanket. Alfred gave his consent, and the boatswain left.

It was nothing too severe, luckily. No fractured bones and no dislocation. Nothing but a strongly battered shoulder, but that was an injury any experienced sailor would walk off and not make much of a fuss about. Gervase still bandaged the shoulder, and said that if anything it was to at least keep Alfred reminded that he did in fact had an injured shoulder, and remind him to take it easy for a few days. Alfred thanked him, left, and found the boatswain with a basket standing outside his cabin door. In the basket was the blanket, soaked.

Alfred took it from there, and told the boatswain to get some rest. The man saluted and left Alfred to retreat into his cabin with duvet and basket. The basket had reminded him of his wet clothes that he had meant to do something about, but decided to leave them for the next day. So instead of performing laundry duty, he installed the hammock and threw the duvet onto it. He proceeded to hand the dripping wet blanket to the creature, no words exchanged between them, and watched out of the corner of his eye as the creature wrapped itself in it. The drying of his bedding would be a pain, but he decided not to think of it, and began undressing.

Once his clothes were reduced to a simple pair of trousers and a lose shirt, he climbed into the hammock. He smiled a little at himself for the nostalgia it brought, remembering the many nights he spent in one such thing before he began climbing the ladder of ranks. It was not so bad to be back in a hammock he decided as he lay down and felt the soft swing of it. A pang of fatigue overwhelmed him as every muscle relaxed, and he sighed silently to himself as he relaxed heavily into his temporary bed.

He was lying with his back to the creature, and therefore could not see the eyes trained on him. In his sudden weariness and exhaustion, his very awareness of the creature even being in the same room was pushed far back in his mind. He fell down the steep hill of an extremely tired man's sleep, and was on the verge of falling into a deep sleep when,

"Why did you save me?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: That was the end of that chapter, and I would like to just say a few things, so please don't skip this an. ;D**

**So this was chapter 5, and I have gotten a better reception for this story than I first imagined I'd ever get *o*. I'm very, very thankful to all of you who have read, faved or reviewed this story. Thank you so, so much. And especially my reviewers. I like to reply to every review and say thanks, but I might have missed some. So, to make sure I give you all my proper thanks and to express how honestly and really and just **_**amazingly happy**_** I am with every review I get, I have written your names here. (the ones with numbers are those who even sent me more than one review). **

**Natcat5 (2)**

**Fall in snow **

**Olliebaz9 **

**Cosanera **

**astro . pancakes ( my beta! -without the spaces. Sheesh, ffnet removes everything that has a dot and no space.) **

**Zaura Fay (2)**

**Renuki (2)**

**Hexa (2)**

**xFlying-Mind-Bunnyx **

**geekisthenewawesome (3)**

**Lovely Hikari (2)**

**Animeloverarmy (3)**

**SomeNavyRecruit **

**Homura chan **

**TheCountryOfShadows **

**xIkuna **

**Sappire 495 **

**Alguien22792**

**Anon **

**Hitsu4HinaEva –Hari-Sama**

**AndyJune **

**CrimsonButteflyTeardrops018 **

**Waytomuchadoaboutnothing**

**RasalynnLynx **

**Luckei **

**Thebeanbutcallmebee (And this person even sent me a message asking me to update the story)**

**And last but not least, my faithful and lovely stalker RedHotHollyBerries. She has to be the most wonderful (and she is quite pretty too, I saw a picture of her) stalker an author can have; chock full of compliments (not to mention curiosity) about my story. :3 **_**And**_** she gives me thorough feedback on every chapter I write. **

_**So thank you all so much.**_** And let's just face it; without you, I would have eventually dropped the story. That's how any (or many) author on ffnet works, after all. But you took the time to write me a review, and that makes me so happy I dance around for half an hour for every review. **


	6. Chapter 6

"Why did you save me?"

Alfred was suddenly not nearly as tired anymore. Instead of being sleepily oblivious to anything else in the room, he was now very much aware of the piercing eyes boring into his back.

Behind him, the creature waited for his reply without a sound. Alfred's eyes locked onto the wall in front of him.

At the moment it had happened, he had acted on impulse and instinct, not really questioning his own actions. Now that he was being confronted about it afterwards, he was unsure of what to say. "_You could have drowned"_? …Indeed. This was a creature born to live in and breathe water itself. Drowning was rather unlikely. Pulling in an inaudible breath, he rolled over in the hammock. The bolts and woodwork it was fastened to groaned, and the hammock itself rocked back and forth from his movements.

Alfred settled on his side with the duvet pulled up to his shoulders, looking at the creature huddled in a blanket coloured dark with water. Its face was blank, but as Alfred lay eyes on it, he was still taken slightly aback; in its eyes, he believed he could see earnest and unveiled feelings of curiosity, and a strange form of worry. If it could be called that.

They confused him, the creature's sudden changes in mood that had been occurring throughout that day. From absentminded, to guarded, to emotionless, to curious, to- …whatever it was now. Alfred would not call it vulnerable – he dared say the creature was everything _but_ that –, but it was down a similar road.

Silence rested between them for a while, until Alfred opened his mouth and spoke.

"You can't swim." It was a blunt declaration of fact. There was a small twitch to the creature's face, but that was all.

"The pub keeper told me," Alfred hesitated, unsure of how to word what he was going to say next, "that you had been," a brief pause "…taken. Before you had learned to swim." A shadow fell across the creature's face.

"So why?" It looked directly at him, as though its eyes could see right through him and into his thoughts. Alfred blinked, confused and unnerved by the gaze, a floating, dazed sensation that the hammock could give way under him any minute coiling in his stomach.

"Regardless of what he told you, why save me? Why save a _'creature'_?" An ice-cold jolt shot through Alfred's spine. "You and your kind are the ones referring to me as '_it_'."

Sneaking nausea followed the chill as the creature's eyes unfailingly continued to bore into his. Silence enveloped them, and Alfred tore his gaze away. He sat up, swinging his legs slowly out of the hammock, and leaned his elbows on his knees. The fingers of each hand entwined thoughtfully with one another. It was dark; the last bit of daylight had just been swallowed by the ocean. Only the slight light of the stern lanterns were left to reach through the cabin window and replace the warmly coloured rays of sun. They swung leisurely with the movements of the ship, making the dim lighting of the cabin inconstant.

"Listen," Alfred finally said, looking at his hands, slowly twirling his thumbs. "I don't know why I saved you. Or if I actually saved you at all." He glanced at the creature. It caught his eyes again, and Alfred did not have the required willpower to tear away again, so reluctantly he let his eyes stay there. "But I did, for I thought you would drown and that was not what I intended when I first brought you on board."

He did not say anything more and the creature's eyes seemed to let go of him a little, enough for him to avert his gaze again. He did not want to tell of the fear he had seen in its eyes out on deck.

"Just because I'm not like you, doesn't mean I don't feel." The mutter from the creature was almost inaudible. The creature was turned away from him, and Alfred was not sure if he was supposed to have heard it at all. But it did not matter. He _had_ heard. And he could not stop staring at the being on his bed, for once not being the one to look away. His lips moved before he could stop them.

"I'm sorry."

They froze. Both of them. The creature's head snapped back in his direction, and it looked just as surprised as Alfred felt. It looked at him with such plain incredulity, as though it could not believe what it had heard. And quite frankly, some tiny, irrational, distant part of Alfred's brain thought that he really couldn't either.

Alfred opened, closed, and reopened his mouth.

"I mean-" He cleared his throat. Outside, the ocean had fallen so very still, no evidence of the storm that had raged only hours prior remaining. It made for an ear splitting silence. The gentle billows of the waves were not enough to draw the all-too-familiar groaning from the ship's woodwork, only adding to the quiet. Even the lanterns outside the window were exceptionally still. At any other time, Alfred would have enjoyed it; a rare moment of complete peace. But right then and there he was too distracted to even notice the stillness. Replacing the ordinary noise of his ship in his ears was the rapid beating of his own heart, making his head buzz.

His mouth repeated the same goldfish-like behaviour a few more times. Then, there was a small creak from the door, most likely because of the wind or something of the like, and it functioned like a signal.

Alfred jerked, suddenly acting very quickly as he swung his legs back into his hammock and grabbed a hold of his duvet. He glanced one last time at the creature. "Good night," he said, and then quickly turned over in the hammock, pulling the duvet with him so it covered him all the way up to his ears. His violent movements made the hammock bounce around dangerously, the throes back and forth lasting for several (uncomfortable) minutes as Alfred stared at the wall and could feel eyes staring at his duvet-covered neck.

He could have hit himself, had it not been for the fact that he did not dare to move. He lay stiff and unmoving long after the hammock quieted down, one single thought grinding in his mind.

_You are officially the most brainless captain in all the navy, Alfred Jones. _

* * *

><p>"It is a lovely morning, Captain."<p>

"Indeed." Alfred smiled at James, the navigator. _For those who got any sleep_.

Alfred had woken up four hours ago, since then managing small tasks here and there as the members of his crew slowly but surely either woke up or were awakened by other crewmembers. –That is to say, he had _gotten out of bed _about four hours ago. He had not actually gotten a single wink of sleep.

When he had gotten out of the hammock that morning his body felt uncomfortably stiff with a few dully aching joints from having retained the exact same position the whole night through –_and_ from the violent weather of the former day. It had not made it any better that big, deep green eyes had kept watching every step he took from the moment he planted his feet on the floorboards until he got out of the door.

But, that aside, it was a rather nice morning. The sky was bright with thin clouds drifting slowly high up in the Troposphere. It had been like this all morning, with little traces of reds or oranges in the early hours, which made for a promising day without rain. The crew was in good spirits –albeit a bit tired and weary, but that was only to be expected. After a closer examination, they discovered the ship had also managed extraordinarily well. The crew was buzzing about on the ship, repairing and readying, and the carpenters had informed Alfred the tank material had suffered little damage. So yes, all in all, it was a splendid morning.

Alfred pulled in a deep breath, and could not help but smile a little at the horizon as he stood by the rail, hands leisurely folded behind his back. A lively, salty breeze was filling up the sails and they held good speed.

"Captain."

"Hm?" Alfred turned from his peaceful view of the ocean.

"Gervase wants to take another look at your shoulder."

Alfred shook his head with a light-hearted laugh to Michael, who stood there with a big coil of ropes slung over his shoulder. "He worries too much," he grinned. Michael gave him a look and Alfred laughed again. "I'll go, I'll go."

Thus a few more hours passed. His shoulder had been just fine, and though he could see that Gervase noticed his lack of sleep, the physician did not question him about it; something which Alfred was thankful for. The subject of the merman in his bed was something he was not too keen on discussing at the moment. Gervase probably understood perfectly well the cause of the young Captain's lack of sleep, anyway. Alfred had been sent out of the physician's cabin with a pat on the shoulder –the healthy one– and an admonition to take it easy.

By lunchtime, the main sail had been repaired. Between lunch and dinner, a much depressed weapons-master found a dozen smashed rum bottles in one of the farther corners of the food storage. By dinner, the tank was done.

Seated for dinner, the cook was in a _somewhat_ foul mood. A barrel of potatoes had been smashed and potatoes kept reappearing everywhere –though his bad mood was probably mainly caused by the lookout, who found the whole situation hilarious and kept bothering the cook about the potatoes.

"Hey, Corey!"

The cook sent a glare in the lookout's direction.

"I saw a few of your potatoes trying to hijack one of the longboats. Said they didn't sign up for this and are going back home." Aaron, the lookout, grinned, leaning back in his seat so he could better see the cook. "And these potatoes taste wonderful, by the way," he waved his fork with a piece of warm potato stuck onto it. "Their bath in the ocean sure did give them a nice taste." Aaron cackled and returned to his plate. The cook grumbled from his counter, grunting and throwing annoyed glares at the back of Aaron's head. He didn't seem bother saying anything in return however, or indeed punishing the light-hearted lookout for that matter. Knowing Aaron, Alfred humorously thought that would amount to nothing but a waste of energy, something the cook was probably well aware of as well. So instead, Corey finished serving food to a few of the sailors before leaving the ladle in the almost-empty pot.

"Remind me, why is he in the crew?" he grumbled to Alfred when he passed by the young Captain. "That man will be our undoing. Mark my words." Then he left to find the potatoes the lookout had hid in one of the longboats.

Alfred shook his head, but laughed none the same. He glanced over at the lookout, who winked at him, causing him to grin back. It was as he sat like this, chatting away with the sailors around him, that Mark, one of the three carpenters, came over to him.

"It's finished, Captain. Where would you have us place it?" All sound was immediately muted. Now, to explain what a feat that is:

These were some fifty sailors_. Hungry_ sailors. _And_ they were a part of Alfred F. Jones' crew, which meant they knew they were free to be as loud and joke around as much as they pleased – within reasonable boundaries, of course – during meals. All these fifty-and-some had stopped talking and moving at the exact same second. Where the tank would stand was clearly something that had been on more than one person's mind.

"Well," Alfred said in the pin-drop silence. He cleared his throat a little. "I have been thinking about it." He folded his hands and frowned thoughtfully. "We all know that out on deck is out of the question. Below deck is the only option, though it will also be harder for us to keep him under continuous surveillance, and easier for him to catch someone alone."

The crew gave an agreeing mumble.

"Which is why I have decided," Alfred looked about his crew, "that it should stay in my cabin."

The reaction – which followed a split second's shock – was prompt, sailors speaking over each other to be heard.

"No, Captain, you can't do that–"

"_What if it eats you?_"

" –It's as dangerous to have it in your cabin as under the deck."

And so forth and so on continued the protests until Alfred laughed, striking them all dumb. "Well, crew," he said. "It's good to know you all have such great faith in me." He winked at Toris, who sighed. The crew fell back into mumbling.

"It's not that we don't trust you, Captain, we do-"

Alfred stopped the boatswain by calmly lifting his hand. "I know. And I am thankful that you worry for me, but you do so in vain. I have been under that creature's spell once, and it will not happen again." Not counting yesterday when he had suddenly ended up on top of it on the bed. Alfred decided that information was better off staying just between the creature and himself.

"Captain, are you sure?" Toris was the one to ask carefully. He believed in his Captain with all his being, Alfred knew that, as did the rest of the crew. But for that exact reason they wouldn't have the Captain put himself at risk for their sake. Technically speaking, it should be the other way around.

Alfred smiled. "Yes, not to worry. I believe this is the safest solution; it was my decision that we bring it along in the first place, after all. I said I would get us in one piece across this ocean." –Even though he was a little unsure of _how_. But, he told himself, he was the Captain and he would just have to figure it out. He had yet to read the books he had bought in Plymouth, and hopefully they would hold some sort of key on how to deal with the merman.

"All right," Mark was the one to take action, as the rest of crew had fallen mute, just glancing at each other. "We need to get the tank up on deck and into the Captain's cabin." He clapped his hands together with a sort of finality and left the dining cabin. The rest of the crew finished their plates and followed the carpenter, some quicker or slower than others.

"Toris." The quartermaster stopped as someone tapped his arm. Most of the crew had already left, their Captain probably already out on the main deck. When he turned around, he found the lookout looking at him.

"What is it?" Toris asked, just slightly surprised, but became more so when the lookout frowned a little and quickly glanced around.

"Are you sure the captain is alright?" he asked, voice a little lower than normal.

"Of course," Toris replied, confused as to where this was going. Sure, their Captain's idea could be labelled as 'a little' dangerous, and while he was worried, this was Alfred Jones they were talking about –which was exactly what he told the slightly younger sailor. However, Aaron the lookout, shook his head.

"That's not what I meant. I mean the Captain called it 'him'."

Now Toris was not following at all, and it must have been very obvious on his face, for Aaron heaved a softly frustrated and impatient sigh. "The captain has always referred to that creature as 'it', but just now he said _him_."

Toris was still lost. "When did he say that? I didn't hear it," he tried carefully, not sure what to say to calm the growingly panicking man. But at his words, some of the steam seemed to leave Aaron.

"Well," he said, suddenly appearing a little unsure as he glanced around again. "It was only once." He frowned at the floor briefly. Toris opened his mouth, though before he could say anything, someone else broke in.

"Relax, Aaron." Both the quartermaster and lookout turned around to make eye contact with the navigator, James. He was smiling calmly at them, and had somehow remained in the galley unnoticed by the both of them. "If you look at the creature, the merman, it looks like a male. Everyone has noticed that, so what the captain chooses to call it is of little relevance."

"But," Aaron tried meekly.

"And it was just once, wasn't it? That is no reason for concern." James patted the frowning lookout friendly on the shoulder. "You are observant, but keep to using your eyes, all right?" Aaron nodded dejectedly. The navigator smiled. "The best we can do for the captain now is to follow his orders and keep a sharp eye for any hostile behaviour from the creature, or any possible relatives of it in the water." He gave the lookout a final pat on the shoulder and left to follow the other crewmembers. Toris tried to give an uplifting smile, and the two went to join the others.

* * *

><p>Out on the main deck, the crew had already secured the tank with thick ropes loped over the lost bean on the nearest mast and were about to lift it up through the big trapdoor on the main deck from the indoor deck below. Alfred was helping with some of the ropes, heave-ho-ing to keep them all in time as they slowly, but surely, got the heavy thing up. Two men were laying long wooden poles at a two-foot distance from each other like a broad track leading from the trapdoor to the captain's cabin.<p>

When the tank was lifted above the deck, they gently swung it, placed it onto the poles, and began to push. Like this, they made their way to Alfred's cabin, and finally placed the tank to the left of the door –on the opposite side of where the bed was located. Then began the toilsome work of filling it with salt water.

Through the entire process, the creature on the bed kept his eyes on them. When the doors had first been opened, he had sat his eyes sharply in the poor man who had opened them, making the man hurry back to the others. From there on out, the creature had first looked confused and ever so slightly distraught at all the commotion, but as soon as it understood what was going on, it fell back into leisurely watching them.

However, even though _it_ looked as calm as could be, the end of its tail hanging off the bed and swaying lazily back and forth, the _crew_ was anything but. Of course, they tried to keep calm, and with people such as James and the helmsman Eska it was impossible to see if the creature's presence made them uneasy at all. Nevertheless, each time the crew returned to the cabin with a bucket of seawater, it made more and more of the men silently think to themselves how brave their Captain was. Not to mention wondering how their Captain had even managed to sleep the night before. Little did they know their Captain had indeed not.

As the tank was beginning to fill up, Alfred went over to the trap door to help close it, and peeked down at the deck below. His eyebrows shot upwards before he grinned down at the three carpenters.

"I didn't know you made such a _mess_ when you work," he noted. The carpenters took a brief halt in their tidying.

"Yes, you did," Mark said, a hopeless sigh heavily evident in his voice. "You say the same thing every time we make something." Alfred laughed.

"Well, at least you do great work," and he shut the trapdoors, returning to the tank in his cabin.

It was almost full, a shallow trail of water leading from the bulwark to the tank as the crew had become more careless for each turn. It did not really matter much. They were on a ship at _sea_; if you couldn't handle water, then what were you doing in the navy?

"Good work, men," Alfred said when he deemed the tank full enough (meaning it was not so full it would run over when they placed the creature in it, but full enough to leave only a few inches up to the edge when they had), the crew flocking outside the door of his cabin. "Put the buckets away, and continue with your ordinary chores." There was an uneven chorus of _"Yes, sir,"_ before the men trotted off to do as they were told.

"Navigator," Alfred poked his head out the cabin door. James had been about to head below deck, but stopped and turned around.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Mind giving me a hand?" Alfred smiled lopsidedly. "It is rather heavy."

"Of course, Captain." James came back, and the two men turned to the bed where the creature – who had been close to dozing off by now – eyed them warily. Alfred supposed it knew what was to happen, but probably still did not like the idea of being manhandled this way. This thought was probably what made Alfred lean slightly closer than he strictly needed when he hitched his arms around its torso, and whisper "_It'll be over in a moment_," before he could think better of it. He proceeded to hoist the merman up, waiting for James to do the same. He did not notice the small glance James threw at him, just asked if the man was ready, and upon receiving a nod the two lifted the merman off the bed on the count of three.

It was just like all the other times. The creature was heavier than it looked, but not as heavy as Alfred reckoned it should be. The skin was as his fingers remembered it –cool and soft, yet firm. He and James were across the floor in a few steps, gingerly raising the creature higher to get it over the edge of the tank. Alfred, though he would rather not admit it to himself, found his hands pausing in a brief pang of immense need, wanting to hang onto the creature, to continue feeling that skin that was both exactly like his own, yet very different. But the navigator was there.

With a slight frown as he let go, he blamed it on his curiosity. He had always had a lot of it, which was one of the reasons he had joined the navy in the first place. That was all it was. Curiosity.

He thanked James for the help, the navigator leaving with a brief salute, probably returning to his charts below deck. Then the man would then most likely join Eska on the helm as Alfred stayed in his cabin to take care of some paperwork.

Or that was what he told James he would do, at any rate.

However, when the navigator had left, Alfred did not go and sit down by his desk. Instead, he flopped down on his bed, leaning his elbows in a tired manner on his knees and sighing heavily. Bad idea; the bed was soaked. But, not having been able to catch a single moment of sleep since the long storm the day before, the sleeplessness was finally catching up to him and he couldn't be bothered to stand back up. He could feel exhaustion gnawing at his joints and back and eyelids, as well as the water slowly soaking his bottom.

But, he didn't feel like sleeping just yet either, so he rubbed his face with yet another sigh, before looking across the room at the tank. The creature was looking right back at him, though without any particular emotion, guarded or otherwise. Alfred licked his lips, glancing at different places on the floor, feeling slightly awkward after the previous night. "So," he finally said, looking back at the merman again, sternly telling himself to pull it together. "How are you feeling?"

The merman looked at him for what surely had to be several minutes, and then tilted its head slightly and lifted one hand above the water. It knocked its knuckles against the closed underside of the tank's lid, all the while looking at Alfred.

"Oh, right," Alfred jumped up. He hesitated for barely a second before crossing the floor and swinging open the heavy and sturdy wooden lid. As he held it up, gingerly tilting it back to lean against the wall, he looked down. The creature had retracted its hand, disturbing the water. This made the merman look distorted and dancing with the ripples across the surface. Alfred halted for a few moments, caught up by his brain trying to make out a clear picture of the merman from the blurred view.

He finally let go of the lid and retreated a few steps. The merman watched him through the glass, at first glance appearing to leave it at that. But no. Without warning, it suddenly stirred and shifted. Nearly soundlessly, its head broke the water's surface and rose above the edge of the tank. Then came the hands, slipping up onto the wood making out the ledge above the glass. It rested its hands there, more or less observing Alfred who was standing a few feet away.

"Fine, thank you, Mr. Captain."

How strange to hear that voice. Alfred had to remind himself to nod, which he did numbly, and then to respond. "That's good," he said as slowly as his nod had been, and equally as stagnantly made his way back to bed. He did not flop down on it again though – instead he fiddled with the books on his nightstand, reading the titles without really reading them before properly picking them up. He glanced at the merman again and went to sit by his desk. There he cracked open one of the books and spent the following half hour repeatedly reading the first page absentmindedly.

After he had tried to focus through half of the second page, not remembering anything he had read for the fifth time, he finally gave up. Closing the book and laying it to rest on the polished desktop, together with his many documents, he turned around in his chair.

"Hey," he said, looking at the creature again. "Are you hungry? You've gone for days without food."

The creature did not look like it had moved much while he had made his failed attempt at reading, apart from its eyes, which darted from the windows to meet his. It still had its hands on the tank's edge, tail position just right to give him the essential support to keep his head up and above the water with ease without hanging by his hands.

Alfred was sure it would say no again, either that, or ignore him. He wondered if there was at all any food they had to offer it, or its only food source was human flesh. He certainly hoped not.

But Captain Alfred was up for another surprise that day, for the merman opened his mouth to speak. Though not right away, mind, his first reaction was to sink slightly lower in the water as he eyed Alfred. He looked him over, his face mainly expressionless: giving Alfred a brief flashback to the first emotionless gazes the creature had thrown at him. At that time they had given him goosebumps, and even as only a memory, they still did.

It seemed to weigh its options, and as it briefly glanced at the woodwork under its hands before looking back at him and lifting itself slightly higher above the water again, Alfred felt as though it was taking a leap.

"Do you happen to have any fish?" it asked. The question was uttered almost entirely without breath, though not as a whisper. It was a ginger tone, testing the waters.

Frankly, Alfred had not expected a response due to the many other dismissals. He was therefore not prepared, and so the actual act of the creature speaking – not to mention the request – caught him entirely off guard. Which, again, was why his brain supplemented his mouth with the first thing that came to it.

"I didn't think you would eat that."

"Why not?" was the blunt, deadpan reply.

The rational part of Alfred's brain caught up with events and he looked away sheepishly, feeling ever so slightly indisposed. "Well," he said, brain close to going on strike with the overload of very much unforeseen and surprising happenings, "you are sort of like a fish yourself-" He clamped his mouth shut. It could not get much worse. Protect the crew, _yes_ _indeed_, why don't we go and offend the creature while we're at it?

But the merman snorted, jerking Alfred to glance back at it.

"And if I couldn't eat fish, what do you think merfolk get by on? A seaweed diet?"

About two seconds of complete silence passed. Then the merman suddenly let go of the tank edge and abruptly pulled itself under the surface, at the same time retracting back against the back wall.

This was not at all what Alfred had expected by far.

* * *

><p><strong>An: <strong>_**Please read the entire an. **_

**I'm sorry it took so long again. I keep on promising myself I'll be quicker the next time around, but yeah. I was a little slow writing, and then my beta's computer decided to be difficult, and after two weeks delete her editings. So this chapter is unbetaed, and that was two weeks of extra wait for all of us, and I am so sorry I was not done with this sooner. I hope I at least still have one or two readers left out there. '^' **

**Also, I want to give a few shout-outs to a few of my reviewers from the last chapter. I have been reading the revs from the last chapter over and over again to keep my spirits high while writing this chapter (I GOT 18 REVIEWS! Seriously! **_**18**_**! That's almost 20. I was, and still am, in heaven *o* **_**I LOVE YOU PEOPLE!**_** (and still I took so long to give you the next chapter. I feel terrible)).**

**- So **_**Teenage Mouse**_**, did you see that? Where did the tank end up? :3 Don't worry though, I was planning for that all along~.**

**- And **_**MystikalIgirisu**_**, I hope I managed to make you fall out of your chair again. ^^ Haha, I laugh every time I read that review of yours. It made me really happy.**

**- **_**Lovely Hikari**_** *reaches out hands, ready to dance again* :D **

**And lastly, here's the list of the crew again:**

**Quartermaster. Name: Toris**

**Helmsman. State: Alaska. Name: Eska **

**Navigator. State: Rhode Island. Name: James**

**Weaponsmaster. State: Texas. Name: Andrew**

**Physician. State: North Dakota. Name: Gervase**

**Boatswain. State: Ohio. Name: Michael**

**Look-out. State: Oregon. Name: Aaron**

**Carpenter. State: Wyoming. Name: Daniel **

**Carpenter. State: Nebraska. Name: Charles**

**Carpenter. State: Missouri. Name: Mark**

**Cook. State: Alabama. Name: Corey**

**If you are from one of these states, please do tell me what you think of your representative, yeah? :D**

**(flippin' heavens, what a long an -_-)**

(')(')(')

_**EDIT**_** This chapter has been betaed by Geekisthenewawesome. She's a true wonder of a beta. :D **


	7. Chapter 7

The cook was generally used to random requests for food outside dining hours from the Captain. Fish, however, was rarely what the Captain asked for. When Alfred said he was going to try feed the merman again, the cook lifted a curious brow, but did not say anything. Alfred was plenty sure, though, that the cook was silently asking himself the same question he had first posed; merpeople ate fish?

That had been about half an hour ago.

Now, he sat by his desk, looking at the open tank with one fish on a platter balanced on one of the corners. The one the food was intended for however was lying at the bottom of the tank, almost demonstratively looking everywhere else but at the food. When the merman had mentioned the matter of a 'seaweed diet', Alfred had been on the verge of saying "_What about humans?_", but had luckily caught himself before doing so –his offers regarding food had already been misinterpreted once, and that was once too many.

Alfred was tapping his pen on a document silently, observing the merman. He had suddenly, and without forewarning, seen a completely new side of the being. It had disoriented him, as well as leaving him curious to see if there was more to this creature than the public knowledge and common prejudice had to offer.

But, the merman had yet to touch the food after over half an hour, and finally, the Captain sighed heavily, the pen falling still on the sheets of paper on his desk.

"Look; that food is for you. You're hungry. You must be."

There was no reaction from within the tank. A thought awoke in his head. Gently, yet deliberately and observing carefully, he said, "I will not demand anything of you in return if you eat it. You can have as many as you like."

His words made the merman tense up. Although nearly invisibly so, there was no mistake. He slowly turned around to face the navy captain, eyes big and emerald green. The Captain must have hit the nail on the head, for he floated slowly upwards, gingerly breaking the surface. He ascended behind the plate, keeping some distance from the food still. He glanced at Alfred, almost as if to check if the Captain would go back on his word and sneak up on him. Alfred did not move, and a hand lifted, dripping with water, testing the air. Then it latched out; the merman's mouth opened, and the fish was gone.

Alfred blinked. He had not seen it be eaten. The merman had swallowed it whole in less than a second, without chewing.

Alfred stared as the merman greedily licked its fingers, momentarily forgetting everything about keeping up all and any of its facades. Alfred moved slightly – just a thoughtless, absent shifting in his chair. Not much, but it was more than enough. The merman snapped its head up, caught Alfred's eyes. Its pale skin became if possibly even bleaker; clearly having been uncomfortably reminded of its silent spectator. It quickly dived back under the surface.

A silent vacuum seemed to suck up the air in the room, of the kind that left Alfred completely immobile in his seat, until he forced himself to break the silence several minutes later. He rose, still feeling every bit crushed by the very air, took the plate, and left.

The captain went back to the kitchen. The cook wasn't there –he was probably checking out the food supply in the storeroom further down in the ship's levels. But it wasn't a problem; Alfred was well acquainted with the kitchen, and found all of what he needed with great ease. What he needed was not really much, true enough, but even so. He found the barrel with fish and grabbed two relatively large ones by the gills before returning to his cabin with them.

Thus he sat there again, watching from his desk as the plate was balanced on the corner. Only one of the fish was on it, though, as he had chosen to hang onto the other. It was lying on the edge of his desk, clear of any documents and the like.

The merman's gluttonous eating had affirmed his earlier assumptions; the meals at the pub had been scrawny. But someone who was accustomed to receive scarce amounts of food –even if it was not enough – should not suddenly be fed in huge amounts. That could easily do more harm than good.

This time, the merman did not need any form of encouragement from the Captain. He already had half the fish down his throat by the time Alfred had first sat down. The fish's tail stuck out of the merman's mouth. He stopped for a second, glanced at Alfred, and then swallowed the fish completely.

Alfred couldn't help gawking just a _tad_ at the sight, despite his best efforts to keep professional. That fish had been a lot bigger than the first, yet the merman seemed to have no trouble swallowing it straight down.

Alfred quickly regained control of his face and collected himself, though not quickly enough for the creature to have missed it. It paused to observe the Captain, then its posture changed. It returned to that calm, self-assured expression from its first days aboard the ship. The creature's tilted its head just slightly, just a little bit, while eyeing Alfred. It leaned against the side of the tank and reached a hand up to its face.

The merman opened its mouth and stretched its neck, its fingers going to its lips. As this happened, Alfred suddenly noticed something new. When he now saw it, he remembered having seen it before, but not clearly enough to have registered it. Now, however, he did.

It had gills. There were three of them on either side; horizontal slits, the first right under the jaw and the two others following evenly down the throat. As the merman stretched his head up, he spread out the gills at the same time. Then his fingers went into its mouth, seeming to take a hold of something far back, and proceeded to pull fish bones back out. From tail to head, an entire fish skeleton, flawless.

Alfred did not gawk with his mouth this time (he was focusing very hard so as not to), but very much with his eyes. As the merman put the bones on the plate, he discovered the smaller fish skeleton on the floor beneath. It took a few seconds, and a few more when he had gotten up on his feet, but he went over and picked up the plate and remains of the smaller fish.

The captain walked outside without a sound, crossed the deck, and dumped the fragile, shiny bones in the water.

The sun was on its way down, the same thin, light clouds from earlier that day hanging by the horizon. Their see-through white colour seemed only to amplify the splendour of the sunset sky, taking on a bashful blush crowned with an orange hue. Beneath, the wave tops mirrored it all like an especially dainty mosaic picture. The moist bones flashed in a bright orange from the setting sun, for a second looking like sun rays gone astray, before hitting the water and being swallowed by the ocean.

Alfred looked on as the bones sunk slowly due to their light weight, pulled in dull dancing twirls by the waves' currents and heaves. When they were gone from sight, he closed his eyes, breathing in the cool and fresh ocean air. He laid his hands on the rail, leaning against it. He tilted his head back a little, letting the breath out again, and opened his eyes. The day had gone by so very quickly. Come to think of it, the past few days had all flown by in a blur. He traced the thin, sparsely spread clouds with his eyes. How much of his time and daily affairs had changed since they had found that creature in the pub, the merman. How long had it been now? It had been more than a week, surely. Two weeks? Three? He actually wasn't sure. Regardless, he glanced in his cabin's direction; it had been a very long time for the merman to be without food. He wondered briefly if the way it had gobbled up the fish was the ordinary way its kind consumed food, or if it was caused by fatigue as Alfred had initially thought.

He inhaled deeply again. Nothing felt better than this air, and it reminded him of how stuffy the air of his cabin was. He should air out soon; in contrast to the lower levels of the ship, he actually had the luxury of having windows that could be opened.

He took a last deep breath as he turned to go back and glanced up at the helm where he knew the helmsman stood, soberly and dutifully, gazing steadfastly out across the sea. Alfred did not doubt the man had seen him –if the helmsman had not, then that would have been more than enough of a reason to fire him for being unobservant. But he was thankful for the privacy he had been given as the man didn't look at him even once.

When Alfred returned inside, he was abruptly halted midway through the door: not by any physical force, but by what he saw.

The merman lay, if one could call it that, across the edge of the tank. That is to say, it had its hip resting against the sturdy girder marking out the edge, tail in the water while the upper body stretched out of the tank.

The merman froze at the sound of the door opening, and with wide eyes looked at Alfred. It was reaching for the fish on his desk –well, on the desk had at least been where Alfred had left it. Now, it was lying on the- …_floor_? Alfred blinked nonplussed. The tank was also all the way on the other side of the room across from it. However did the merman at all hope to reach the fish?

Alfred looked at the merman again. It was back at the bottom of the tank now, under water. It was looking at the Captain with those deep, green eyes of its, as though it had never done anything else. The Captain crossed the floor after finally pulling himself together, and picked up the fish on his way to the desk, deciding to dismiss the question of how it ended up there. There was too much else to think of, he must have just bumped into it without noticing earlier.

"You should wait a little," he said, keeping as casual a voice as he could -despite his mind being a whirring mess- and placed the fish back on the edge of his desk. He could practically feel his every move being closely observed.

"It's not good," he continued, pretending to be busy arranging documents he had long since arranged, still that feeling of being watched prickling across his skin. "For you," he said. The boat rocked softly around them. "-Your stomach," he elaborated with a glance at the seemingly indifferent merman. _Seemingly_, because only its eyes betrayed its hunger by the ever so swift glances at the fish. Alfred adjusted the weight on his feet to keep up with the unstable floor, doing so without really noticing; all his years at sea had turned this action into the same elementary instinct as breathing.

Alfred, to escape the tension of the situation and ever burning sensation of eyes on him, kept himself busy with the random shuffling. In the end he sat down on the chair, paging slowly through one of the special books from Plymouth. A few words some twenty, thirty pages in caught his attention, and he began reading. Like this, an unknown period of time passed by in silence, only infrequently broken by low sounds of soft ripples from the tank.

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><p>It was on a random impulse from one of the things he read that had Alfred glancing at the merman. He frowned, his chest tightening oddly. The green orbs swallowed him right up the moment he laid eyes on it, and he found it difficult to get the words out when he opened his mouth.<p>

"What did he do to you?"

The merman had been looking, gazing, _staring_, at the fish, as though an intense hope that the sight alone would soothe its hunger. It had jerked when Alfred turned around however, eyes shifting from the fish to the Captain. Alfred just barely caught and took note of this action in the back of his mind.

Maybe it had been too quick, too sudden, to ask.

Alfred focused on taking in the steady movement of the ship, the motions he was so used to and loved. The semi dark wood making out his cabin, at the moment nearly black in the lack of light, the draping decorating his window on either side. The floorboards running evenly beside each other, the legs of his desk planted upon them. His many white documents basking in the flickering light of a lantern he had lit without noticing while reading. He must have been reading on for longer than he would have first assumed, for no golden rays found their way in through his window, which meant the sun had long since dived into the sea already.

Somewhere along the wandering of his gaze, his eyes landed upon the fish. It was dry, looking mostly grey because of it, a few scales sticking out awkwardly from the lack of moisture and the rough handling it had probably undergone when hauled out of its watery home. The only slightly translucent fin, and the body that was attached to it, was simple, nothing like the splendour only a few metres away from him.

Alfred hitched the fish up by its right gill. The throat had been cut open, making the fish hang in an unnatural angle from his fingers. The mouth agape, round eyes sunken slightly into the skull.

"Two."

Alfred's eyes darted across the room. They locked there.

It was only one word, but it seemed to ring on like lyrics of many hundred words, hanging in the air, never quite letting go. Alfred's throat felt dry, the fish weighing down his hand a little as he rose.

"Only two small fish a day was what he gave me," said the merman. Plain words, an even tone. Yet they bore that same character, same feeling, as the first single spoken word. The boards creaked under Alfred's feet, their heavy, slow movements almost a rhythm, from side to side, front to back, diagonally, dancing. Alfred's palate, tongue, and throat were so very dry when he opened his mouth. Yet sound still came from it.

"Wait a few hours," he said, stepping across the floor, letting the ship's dance tilt him in the right direction and lighten his steps. "That's good for you." He steadied himself with one hand against the tank's edge.

"Then I'll-" He frowned slightly, almost as though he had briefly and suddenly forgotten how to speak. The merman's hands rested not far from Alfred's lone one. The merman slithered closer through the water, though the distance between them had already been short, tilting his head slightly backwards to look up into Alfred's face. The mouth opened. Not a sound came from it. Instead, Alfred's abilities of speech returned to him.

"Then I'll give you this fish as well," he said. He lifted up the hand with the dead sea-creature dangling from his fingers, then across the edge. He lifted it higher, not so it was at level with the merman's head, but a little above. The fish touched the merman's lips, almost like a shared, chaste kiss, before the head slipped into his mouth, the rest smoothly following as Alfred let go of the tail.

Alfred staggered.

The merman's eyes left him to focus on the food, and the contact between them broke. The room seemed to all but hit Alfred like a violent blow to the face. His surroundings came back into awareness with a pang, and it took a great deal of self-control not to gape like the fish had seconds ago as he felt an abrupt lack of air burning in his lungs. The oxygen level of his body was probably completely fine; it was likely just an imaginary reaction, but that did not stop it from feeling painfully real.

It had happened _again_. And again, he hadn't even noticed. More than anything, Alfred just wanted to go back to his chair, sit down, and drink something relaxing. He should get some sleep, anything. But he couldn't let go of the edge, as it at that moment felt like that was the only thing keeping him standing. So he had to remain there, less than a metre from the merman who was about to pull the fish out again. Or the fish bones, as it were. They were neatly placed on the tank edge before the merman's attention was turned to the Captain once more.

Had Alfred not seen the ship being built and known to the core of his being how sturdy its floorboards were, he would have believed the feeling of them giving way under him to be real. He leaned more heavily against the tank. This brought him lower and more forward, and thus also closer to the merman. He slowly reached out with one hand, bridging the distance between them. _Why_? _Why was it_-?

His fingertips brushed against cool, smooth skin. His fingers ran gingerly across the cheek, following the cheekbone to the ear. He brushed away half damp hair, in the corner of his eye spotting the three gills tracing the neck below. His heart was numbly beating away and it felt as though his head was filled with water, making his hearing dull, as though the sounds came from the other side of a thick glass wall.

He was so close, so close. He could just lean in, just lightly, nothing more than a slight change of weight, and he could press his lips to the creature before him.

His feet abruptly went ice cold and a chilled shiver rushed up his spine. He wanted to turn around and flee. But he was glued to the wood of the tank, unable to move.

"Why," Alfred's voice failed him, his throat far too dry to produce a proper sound. He opened and closed his mouth, tongue dry and uncomfortable as he touched it to the roof of his mouth before trying to speak again.

"I thought mermaids-" He broke himself off, frowned, brain not working as quickly as it should as he corrected himself, "I thought mer_folk_ sang." The merman's deep eyes looked unblinkingly at him. "The tales," Alfred fumbled, trying his best to keep a steady stream of words as this was the only thing his mind managed to supplement him with, completely out of the blue as the subject was. "The tales tell of how merpeople sink ships and kill sailors," a brief, unwilling pause to his rambling again, "as they sing."

The merman did not reply at first. A long while of silence passed between them as it seemed to observe Alfred, just floating in the water, looking at him with those eyes that told nothing of what it felt.

"You have your answer," it said.

Alfred nearly fell over completely. It was only by a severe mustering of strength that he saved himself from hitting the floor when he was suddenly able to stumble backwards. Several metres from the tank he was breathing heavily, eyes wide and gradually feeling embarrassed at his trembling hands and feet. He hastily decided it was about high time he did something about his wet bed, and left on feet that were more unstable than he would have liked to admit.

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><p>The ship was fast asleep. Only the helmsman and four other sailors on guard were awake and Alfred was supposed to be sleeping. He was supposed to, so that he could wake up early and take over the wheel. But he wasn't. All his bedding had been changed, the mattress as well, and the hammock removed. He was under his soft, thick, expensive covers, the lantern he had had lit on his desk blown out so his cabin again was illuminated only by the outdoor lanterns. And <em>again<em> he couldn't sleep. This was quickly becoming quite the unfortunate habit.

After turning for the fifteen hundredth time, he gave up. Sitting up, he reached for the little lantern on his nightstand, lighting it so a lively red sheen flickered to life and filled his end of the room.

At the lack of something better to do, he grabbed the book he had not moved to the desk. He did not look at the merman, so he did not know if it was watching him, but he did not doubt it was awake. Ignoring his peripheral vision to the best of his ability, he cracked the book open and began to read.

In comparison to his many former tries and attempts to make sense of the book's numerous pages and black signs printed on old, browned white paper, he found he was soon engulfed in it. Not all he read was about merpeople either. Many pages dealt with water currents and facts about different sea creatures, 'ordinary' ones as well as the more legendary ones. At one page he found a detailed drawing of a gigantic octopus pulling a ship into the abyss. He felt the hairs of his neck rise slightly at the thought of encountering one such as those.

After a while he finally came upon what he was looking for: _Mermaids_. He read the title twice, and found a certain humour in it. Or at least it was interesting how people would always speak of mer_maids_ and not mer_people._ Or mer_men_.

The drawing accompanying the chapter title was of a beautiful young woman, at least a young woman from the waist up. From the waist down her body was that of a fish, long and slim, fanning out at the end as she sat upon a rock, naked and with her long hair falling in alluring waves down her shoulders.

The first paragraph on the following page could be summed down to four words: '_stay away from mermaids' _-if you valued your life, at any rate. Then came a short description of how they looked (as if the picture did not suffice), but then came what Alfred had been looking for. Stories, long and short, of mermaid sightings as well as tales of grand ships that had been pulled to their deaths by lone mermaids. It was amidst these, irregularly spread out between the histories, that what could be called facts and guidelines were written. Already the first one had Alfred glancing over at the merman to make comparisons with what he read.

Of course, when he looked, he was reminded of what had happened only a few hours prior, but swallowed it the best he could and pushed it to the back of his mind.

_If a mermaid is seen while a ship is at sea, it usually means that the ship and its crew are doomed to sink. However, if the mermaid shows no interest in the ship or swims away, this is a good sign._

_Meetings with mermaids can be very dangerous. If she approaches the vessel because she is interested in someone aboard, and then he scorns her, she can call up a storm or tidal wave to have the entire vessel destroyed._

_If you are to throw fish or coins at the mermaid, she might dive for it and disappear, thus you will save the ship from disaster. But the sailors who distract the mermaid this way might be in even more danger on the next voyage. If throwing fish and coins does not work and the mermaid follows the ship, it is sure to sink._

Alfred turned the page, and as he did, he let his eyes wander along the top edge of it until the tank and its contents came into view. The merman was not looking at him. Thoughtfully, and after a while, Alfred returned his attention to the book.

_There are tales of these ladies of the sea in stories and books all around the world. They are portrayed in all kinds of art, from sculptures, paintings, vases and other pottery works, to the figureheads of ships. Lanterns, medallions, needlework, combs, and even chandeliers have been made with mermaid motif._

Following this was a short story of how a sailor whose name Alfred had never heard before, had married a mermaid only to disappear three years later. However, what caught Alfred's interest was a neat handwriting in the margin.

_In 1608, the explorer Henry Hudson wrote the following in his logbook: "This morning one of our companie looking over board saw a Mermaid… from the Navill upward, her back and breasts were like a woman's, her body as big as one of us; her skin very white; and long haire hanging down behind, of colour blacke; in her going downe they saw her tayle, which was like the tayle of a porpoisse and speckled like a Macrell"._

1608. Alfred thoughtfully let his fingers slide across the writing, feeling the ink letters as they bulged out ever so slightly from the paper. This year was 1641. He marvelled at the writing, knowing well who Henry Hudson had been. The man had died in 1611, only three years after he wrote out this copied paragraph in his logbook apparently.

Alfred was lost for a long while wondering just who had written this small bit of text, letters italic and thin, with elegant, tortuous capital letters. Someone who had had access to Hudson's log, and someone who had been in that bookstore –then again, it was probable that it had been written down in the margin long before the book ended up in the shabby old bookstore.

He gave a lightly frustrated sigh as he had to acknowledge the fact that he would never know. It was all most likely the result of coincidences. So, with a last glance at the writing, he read on, three pages later finding something that made his brows lift in curious surprise.

_A mermaid can be kept as a wife if the sailor manages to steal one of her possessions, such as her comb, brush or mirror, and keep it hidden from her. He will need to hide it well, because no matter how long they are married and how many children they have, if she ever finds it, the mermaid will always return to the sea._

Alfred read the paragraph twice before looking up and over at the merman and speaking before he could think better of it,

"Say, is it so that if I take a comb, brush, or mirror of yours from you, I will have control over you?"

To say the expression on the merman's face was one of surprise would be an understatement. He looked baffled, speechless, most likely only a drop away from his jaw falling down as well. Then he frowned, huffed and looked directly at the Captain.

"If I take your hat or coat, will I have control over you?"

It was Captain Alfred's turn to be surprised, though it only lasted for a few seconds. After that he actually broke out laughing. Anyone on the outside looking in would have said the situation was absurd, ridiculous and positively beyond salvation, likewise his behaviour (and probably sanity as well). Some tiny part of Alfred's mind did note that this reaction of his was not what would have been to expected, the day's earlier events taken into consideration –the last few _weeks'_ events taken in consideration. Maybe he was going crazy? Going through what he had, and having what he had in his cabin, could render any man with more than just mental disorders.

But regardless of reason and situation, it felt good to laugh.

"No, I suppose you are right." He smiled at the merman who had dived under water, regarding him with round eyes through the glass, looking sceptical, as well as a little guarded. Alfred let him be and returned to his book. He was feeling strangely light of heart all of a sudden. It was as though the laughter had unwound a heavy burden from his shoulders he had not even noticed he was carrying before it was gone.

This was probably also why he -after another bout of silence and ten pages of reading- again gazed upon the tailed man in the tank.

"You know," he said after simply gazing on without a word for a few minutes. He had a thoughtful look on his face, and spoke slowly, weighing his words as he went. "You are a lot different from what I expected you to be." The merman's expression went from sceptical to hesitantly curious, though did not lose its guarded factor. Alfred pulled a hand through his hair, letting the book tip backwards so it landed with a soft thud on the duvet and rested, cover down, in his lap.

"You react to the things I say," he turned a little in the bed so he could look directly at the merman. "And to what happens around you." He paused a little, the merman still submerged, but Alfred could see that he was listening. "You feel."

The merman's gills spread out, a small steam of bubbled escaping them, as he rolled his eyes. Alfred laughed, though gently this time, his eyes soft with remembrance of the night before. "Yes, you told me so, I know." His voice was low.

He observed the merman closely. Somewhere, the part in the back of his mind that notices such things, told him that the changing of guards would happen soon and that he was going to be very tired in the morning. Alfred rose. The merman kept close watch but did nothing else to cause alarm, so Alfred pulled in a soundless breath and began to cross the floor.

His naked feet made soft whispering sounds when they met and left the wood. He soon stood in front of the tank. He looked down. The merman had barely moved, so the water surface was still, only slightly altering his view of the man below. Then, slowly, not letting go of the merman with his eyes, he crouched down, leaning one hand on the wooden edge as he did.

He sat in front of the glass, looking straight in at the merman. They were almost at perfect eyelevel.

"You," Alfred said gradually. "Merpeople and humans are not as far apart as we make them out to be, are they?" The merman did not reply. He did not move either, did not blink, only gazed back at Alfred. And Alfred looked back, for some reason not feeling the slightest bit afraid or unsteady as he let himself dive into the deep emeralds that seemed to last forever.

"Do you have a name?" he asked finally, and this time he got a clear reaction from the merman. He tensed, eyes widening a little, and then, though Alfred for a brief moment thought he would turn and flee from him, the merman nodded, albeit slowly. Alfred smiled warmly.

"My name is Alfred Jones. What is yours?"

For the longest while silence was the only thing that followed his words, still Alfred did not feel discouraged. He felt warm and comfortable inside, waiting patiently, for he knew, even if he had no proof or telltale sign, that he would be answered. And sure enough, after a time he knew not the length of, the merman opened his mouth and spoke through the water and glass,

"Arthur."

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><p><strong>AN. First off: I hit 72 reviews! :D I was so happy for reaching over 70 before chapter 7. :3 Thank you so much people! <strong>

**Secondly: To my little anonym reviewer who named him/herself FD. I looked it up. "I'm happy", or something, right? :3~ I wanted to translate to "I'm content", but google translate insisted on "I'm glad". So I went with something in the middle. Yes I'm indecisive. ****X) Now it's your turn: "Jeg er utrolig glad historie min gjør deg glad." ****Feed that little cookie to translate and see what you get, my little reviewer. ;3**

**Thirdly: People, be proud of me~ I think I was rather quick this time. :3 I was done with this chapter the 18th of March, and the 6th chapter was posted on the 10th. I spent 8 days on writing chapter 7. That's a record. *o* What took time however, was finding a new beta, 'cause I can't get hold of . Now the new beta I found doesn't answer me either, so this chapter isn't betaed either. ,_, Which means this could have been posted a long time ago. ****I'm so sorry. **

**Fourthly: The parts Alfred reads about mermaids is taken from a book I have, ""The book of pirates, a guide to plundering, pillaging and other pursuits". **

**-Oh, and last thing. Anyone out there who happens to live in England, Southend-on-sea, or around that area? I just got accepted into university~ Starting this autumn I'm gonna attend Essex East 15 university, acting and stage combat at the southend campus. Southend-on-sea, here I come!**

**(Long an… again… -_- I give up. From now they're always gonna be long! 8D And those of you who don't read all the way through are gonna get eaten by the ogres I hid under your beds~.)**

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><p><strong>Edit: This was later betaed by Misdreamus. <strong>

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><p><em><strong>2nd Edit: <strong>_**Also betaed by geekisthenewawesome. Truly a wonderful beta. :3 **


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred's smile widened, but did not lose its gentle nature. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Arthur," he said.

He felt no need to coax the merman out of the water again, comfortable with just sitting there, the glass between them. He wondered absentmindedly how the merman had managed to speak through the glass and water, and why he had not done so before, but let it be. There was no need to rush and he was feeling wonderfully relaxed, so he simply remained there, crouched outside the tank with one hand leaning against it.

"Say, Arthur," he said, watching how the merman kept a close ear (and close attention in general) to his words. "Do you want me to teach you how to swim?"

And with that, Alfred succeeded in making the merman's jaw drop.

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><p>Morning came. The sun was bright, the clouds were few, the temperature was nothing to complain about – only the winds were lacking. This was of course what Alfred would note <em>after<em> leaving his cabin and the hours of the day passed.

Before this however, his morning was first and foremost a wet one.

Alfred was startled awake by a short spray of lukewarm water (though, because he was rather tired, it felt a lot colder than it really was). For a short moment (which turned out to not be so short by the time it ended), he was in complete disarray. Disoriented, his eyes taking long to focus as his overtired brain had first panged awake then slumped back into a drowsy state, it took a while for Alfred to notice he was in fact on the floor.

To be more exact, he was half-sitting, half-lying next to the tank. From _within_ it, the merman was looking at him with — guess what? — guarded eyes, as seemed to be one of his favourite expressions. Though, this was probably because – Alfred figured after slowly putting two and two together – the merman was the culprit responsible for the morning indoor downpour and was now most likely anticipating some sort of outraged response. This realisation only made Alfred wonder why the merman splashed water on him in the first place, if he was only going to fear revenge afterwards. The captain sighed and glanced about the room, his brain and senses starting to work in what resembled a normal manner. What he was doing sleeping on the floor was another good question.

Right then, when Alfred had begun thinking of getting up, there was a knock on the door. His brows lifted, and glancing at the merman he saw the other was already observing the door intently. It looked as though he had been waiting for the knock to happen, and Alfred believed he had the answer to his first question of the day.

Getting to his feet, he ruffled a hand through his hair, not really doing much about its wet appearance. He called out an "__enter__!", and turned to his desk to take on a posture he hoped would fool the entering party to believe he had been awake for more than thirty seconds.

"Good morning, Captain," said the kind voice of none other than the quartermaster.

"Good morning, quartermaster," replied Alfred, throwing a smile over his shoulder.

"The crew is awake, and it looks like it will be a beautiful day, Captain," the quartermaster reported with a smile.

"Wonderful," Alfred replied, a smile of his own brightening up his face. "I will be with you in a moment."

The quartermaster nodded and returned to the deck, closing the door behind him — though not without throwing a small glance at the merman in the tank, but Alfred had long since learned to ignore that.

Captain Alfred F. Jones was feeling oddly chipper. He got dressed at a healthy pace, not bothering to dry his hair as the water would evaporate on its own quickly enough. The captain _was _feeling stiff and aching all over; a night on the floor had done nothing good for his healing shoulder either, the merman had also been very generous with the water, and to top it off, he was in a general state of sleep-deprivation. Yet, regardless of all this, he felt fantastic.

His good mood was not shared by the merman, however, as Alfred observed while getting dressed. He decided to leave the matter be for the moment, just as he decided not to ponder too long on how he had managed to fall asleep on the floor in the first place. He dismissed it with recognition that the exhaustion from the many sleepless nights had finally caught up with him, and knocked him out for good measure.

As he finished buttoning up his coat, Alfred glanced at the merman, thought for a moment, and made a decision. Heading at a brisk pace toward the door to get outside and begin the day, he made a brief stop by the tank. Bending down a little, he tapped his knuckles smilingly to the glass (no matter that the lid was still open from the night before). This course of action rewarded him with the merman's attention, which was given to him in the form of an alert scowl — a scowl that did not last for very long as the merman flickered his eyes to the door again.

"How are you feeling?" Alfred said. A polite set of words was always a good way to start a sentence, he decided. The merman's attention jerked unsteadily back to him. Receiving no response, Alfred continued, unfazed, "I'll go get you something to eat." And with an absent, single pat of the wooden tank edge, Alfred strode off, damp hair handsomely tussled and bouncing as he walked.

The wonderful morning air hit him, several morning greetings were thrown around, and Alfred trotted off under deck. Down in the galley he briefly greeted the cook, who was just getting started with his morning tasks; namely, breakfast. He gave Alfred a half-salute, and the two carried on with each their respective tasks in peaceful silence.

Alfred loaded a couple of fish onto a plate, one by one. The merman had seemed curiously restless, he mused, looking down into the barrel of fish corpses. He found a reasonable sized red one, a rosefish from the deep waters of the North Atlantic. The cook had bought these in Portsmouth, though they were also a normal sight in the markets back home. Adrian was very fond of them. Maybe the merman was as well. Hopefully, food would soothe the merman's foul mood and then he could find out what had caused it.

Making his way back up to his cabin, Alfred pondered the merman's behaviour and reflecting upon the former night's events, as well as that morning's. One thing was for sure, Alfred thought as he inspected the ridiculously thin, and from the looks of it, dislocated, jaw of the rosefish; something was bothering the merman. Last night and this morning was the first time he had seen the merman quite as perplexed and obviously shaken out of his comfort zone as he had been.

__Arthur__, was it?

From across the deck, Aaron had climbed halfway up to the crow's nest and spotted the Captain. Pausing, he could see a small smile play across the blond man's lips.

* * *

><p>It had been a gruesomely slow day due to the wind that persisted on evading them, while at the same time being oddly hectic. At the very least, very few of the crewmembers were idle for long at a time and Alfred found he had barely stood still the entire day. It was peculiar indeed, as most of the damages from the storm had been taken care of the day before, what remained hardly being enough to keep the entire vessel vibrating with life like it was. The weather was so little in their favour that the sails did nothing less than hang lifelessly from their booms, at the moment not giving off any hope whatsoever of ever bulging back to work. In other words, it was just one of those days where one has nothing to do and therefore ends up finding all the little things that has been left aside as no one has had time to do before.<p>

Alfred did his best to convince himself this was a good thing as they could finally get these things done with, something that should in the long run raise the efficiency of his crew and ship in their favour. This assurance was in a tough match against the little sneaky voice commenting on how nice it would have been to simply have a relaxed day, seeing as how the weather for a change permitted it, and especially after all that had been going on. Alas, no. There was no chance of any long breaks popping up anytime soon.

It did not make matters any better that the merman seemed about ready to flee the tank every time he entered his cabin for a brief moment to retrieve documents or other objects or check on something. As a matter of fact, the merman seemed to get more and more tense every time he stepped in through the door. These mood swings of his really had Alfred confused. First he displayed the utmost calm, as though he was superior to everyone and everything around, nothing being of any real threat to him — which Alfred was more than inclined to believe, all the stories of merfolk taken into consideration. Then there were the times when his poise would capsize completely, and leave the merman to look very much like a severely wounded animal, guarding itself amidst a fray of enemies. To be fair, the merman had had all reasons to display such feelings during the former episodes that had taken place, what with the storm and transferring between tanks and whatnot, but exactly what had the merman so alert now was really beyond him. From Alfred's point of view, they had taken a tremendous step forwards the former night. He nodded to himself at this, patting a few knots he had just made.

Sadly, though, he found he did not have the time for any long conversations with the merman, and therefore most of the day passed without a word exchanged between them. It was not until the crew had idly witnessed another harmless quarrel between the cook and look-out during an early dinner, and after Michael had reported back to Captain Alfred of their galleons figure being short of one finger, that Alfred could flop into his chair and know he did not have to get up and hurry back out five seconds later. He took a second to survey the room before turning to the merman.

As always, he was lying still in the water, small glances being thrown Alfred's way, otherwise appearing indifferent. Small hints of his continuous unrest seeped through, however, and Alfred looked at him for a little while. Time to find out exactly what had the merman's feathers — well, __scales__, as it were — ruffled the wrong way.

"What's troubling you?"

The merman stiffened (if that was at all possible; he was already fairly tense). He set his shimmering emerald orbs in Alfred, who in turn did his best not to flinch. The merman, Arthur, seemed to debate whether or not to say anything, but then his mouth gradually opened and a few testing words were spoken.

"Last night," he said slowly. Alfred nodded gently.

"What you said last night," the merman said, frowning, and paused, waiting. The captain, realising this, kick-started his brain into action and soon caught up with what the water-man was getting at. A smile slipped onto his lips.

"I said I would teach you to swim," he remembered.

"Yes… How did you intend to go about doing that, exactly?"

"Oh. Well," It was Alfred's turn to pause — he had not yet thought about that. Finally, he shrugged. "We would have to slow the pace of the ship, then I thought we'd fasten one of the longboats to her with a rope, lower ourselves down to the water in said longboat and then you could practice swimming from there." Good plan. Then he could sit and supervise the merman from the boat — though he doubted the 'slowing the pace of the ship' bit would be necessary; they were sailing pretty slowly as it was already.

Despite Alfred feeling rather pleased at his idea, the merman's distress did not appear to be appeased in the least. Alfred continued, "You float and you can breathe under water. All you have to do is train the muscles in your tail. You can hang onto the longboat while you do it. It will be completely safe, so you don't have to be scared."

Green orbs narrowed and flashed. "I'm not scared," the merman proclaimed, glaring at the marine captain. Then, as if catching himself, he recoiled a little in the water, his stare averted elsewhere. Alfred blew a slow stream of air out through his lips with a soft 'hff' sound. All right, so he was not scared, and — after observing him more closely — the merman did not look ready to share what was otherwise making him uncomfortable. So Alfred changed his approach.

"Do you not wish for me to teach you to swim?" he asked. All the while through this little dialogue, he had done his upmost to keep his voice as soothing and easy as possible. He felt somewhat like he was talking to an animal, one that would hightail away from him at any time — except, of course, the merman couldn't actually run away.

"No." It was a blunt, short, obstinate reply. The glance sent his way was short but firm and the merman pointedly turned in another direction. Alfred sucked in a short breath through his teeth.

"Don't be so stubborn, you do."

A very tense silence — not to mention shocked, on the merman's side — followed. The captain waited expectantly for the reply or further reaction his brisk outburst would cause. However, at first, nothing came. The merman stared at him, a sort of jittering going through his limbs, as though he was at war with himself concerning what action to take. Then he narrowed his eyes, glaring at the captain, and a small ripple went through the water.

"Do not go making assumptions on what I want, human," he said. His voice was low but intense, and even though he was underwater, it carried through as clearly as it had the night before. Alfred was not sure if it was his eyes that deceived him or not, but for a short second he believed the water itself had grown a shade darker. He felt a little dizzy. The merman was close to the glass, looking without faltering at Alfred. Then he abruptly slumped backwards, retreating to the back wall and dismissing the blond captain altogether.

Said man felt as though he had been released from an iron vice. He was sitting heavily in his chair, waiting to see if perhaps the merman wanted to add something more to that statement of his. When nothing came (and when he felt he would not fall over if he moved), Alfred slowly rose to his feet. He would be a fool to say he had grown immune to the piercing stare of the merman's eyes, but he managed to shake off some of the after effects as an idea rose in his mind.

Besides, he had come to a conclusion; had he wanted to, the merman could have killed him a long time ago already. Alfred did not particularly like admitting to this fact, but he did not become a captain by being delusional and denying the truth. Seeing as Alfred was very much not dead, this meant the merman did either not see the use in killing him, or did not want to kill him at all. It was this thought that had encouraged the idea their conversation had lit. So it was with quick steps and recovering high spirits that he left the cabin and headed for the helm.

Climbing the stairs, he went through the steps of his plan in his mind: the practical aspects, and the things he had to prepare beforehand. First, however, he would have to relieve the helmsman of his duties for a few hours so the poor man could get some sleep before coming back to the wheel, as well as take care of another few things. But when that finally happened, he could put his other little conclusions to the test.

* * *

><p>The reaction, the startled hiccup of air sharply sucked in, the tense muscles and wide eyes, was nothing Captain Alfred had not expected. As a matter of fact, he had expected more.<p>

It had taken a while and more than a couple of convincing arguments (that he had basically picked out of thin air) to make all of his crewmembers go to bed, save for the helmsman. He said they had been victims for so much trouble and hardships these past days and weeks that they all deserved a proper night's sleep. He made sure they took down a few of the sails, slowing the vessel down to what almost felt like walking pace — or rather, making sure the vessel would __keep__ the walking pace. It was not as though the winds had picked up since morning and midday after all. Alfred had waited until he was sure the ship was fast asleep, fiddling with a few ropes and gathering some equipment he would need, and otherwise making everything ready while he waited.

Now, everything else having been taken care of and the captain being ninety-nine percent sure no one would wake up to bother them, he had returned to his cabin. Currently, he was fishing out a certain half fish, half human creature of an exceptionally large fish tank. Water splashed to the floor and Alfred's clothes were drenched in a matter of seconds. No worries, though; he had thought about this beforehand and had made sure to rid himself of the most superfluous layers clothing, as well as prepare some dry pieces in the longboat.

However, regardless of his thorough preparations, Alfred had not come up with any good method to transport the merman from the tank to the longboat, and he was as heavy to lift as when first brought aboard. The captain had to support his burden on the tank edge, shifting his grip a little. The merman he was holding onto stared at him with wide, highly alert eyes.

"__What are you doing__?" he protested, seemingly trying to keep his voice down; it was spoken as a strained hiss.

"If we are to get through this with as few casualties as possible, I am going to need you to help out," Alfred replied good-humouredly, disregarding the question entirely. Getting an idea, he began freeing himself from the merman while steadying the merman on the edge of the tank. When he deemed it safe, he turned around, quickly supporting the merman with his hands again, in case he would fall down. Alfred was now standing with his back to the merman.

"You're already out of the tank, now come on and cooperate. Link your arms around my neck," he said. It took a few moments, during which Alfred waited patiently without a sound, though he could feel his heart thudding away. It did not calm down at all when lean arms slithered slowly across his shoulders to latch hesitantly onto him. Neither party said anything as Alfred took a hold of the merman the best he could, leaned heavily forwards, and began walking, half-dragging, half-carrying the merman with him.

They passed through the doorway, the captain not really caring if the doors stayed open. They escaped the shadow cast over the entrance by the staircase leading to the helm, embarking upon the crossing of the dark deck. Alfred knew the helmsman had seen them by now. He also knew the man was certainly wondering what their captain was up to, but would not ask any questions or spread the word. Truly a sailor a captain was blessed to have.

They reached the longboat Alfred had prepared, and had it not been for the fact that he had trained especially on doing things like this (the part with the boat, not the merman), it would have been close to impossible for him to lower the longboat down onto the sea below. It was a task that would normally require at least two people, but Alfred had been an overly eager cadet back in the day with a relentless craving for being perfect in every task. He supposed he could be happy about that now.

When the longboat hit the water, Alfred climbed down into it via a rope ladder. Once down, he let go of the rope keeping them in place and let the boat drift backwards, rocked by the waves caused by the ship. He had already secured the little boat safely and tightly to the stern railing, and overall it was working rather well.

Captain Alfred turned to the merman. He was awkwardly curled together in the back of the boat, squeezed in-between sitting planks. Alfred could not help but smile. The poor thing looked completely out of his element – which was rather ironical – and more than a little thrown off. Alfred leaned forwards, still smiling. "Now I am going to teach you to swim."

The merman stared at him, blinked perplexedly, and growled. "What sort of ludicrously stubborn creature are you?" He shifted a bit to find a better position.

"Just a very headstrong one." Alfred smiled genially. "At least when I know I am right," he added with a wink. The merman's eyes narrowed.

"Really?" he said in a voice that did not sound like a question at all. "And what, pray tell, is it you believe you are 'right' about at the moment?"

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. Here it came, the little deduction he had worked out. He took on a casual expression, though inwardly weighing every move he made carefully. Instead of saying anything right away, he pulled off the wet shirt, replacing it with the dry one he had prepared. He packed the soaked lump of fabric securely beneath a plank to keep it from falling overboard by accident, before he pulled on a thick coat to keep him warm through the night hours. Not looking in the merman's direction whatsoever as he did this, he said, in a very conversational tone, "I wouldn't appreciate being dragged helplessly across a wide, open space in broad daylight with some fifty men looking at me, if I could help it. It's a rather uncomfortable feeling."

He continued not to look in the other's direction, making a big show out of buttoning every single button his coat possessed. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw the merman look at him with shocked eyes and a caught expression. So Alfred had been right. The merman had deducted the whole swimming ordeal would contain a public trip across the deck that morning.

When the __important__ task of buttoning his coat had been thoroughly fulfilled, silence having rested between them for a while, Alfred finally looked back at the merman. "Now," he said in a calm, smiling voice. "How about we get to that swimming?" __Now that what was troubling you is out of the way. __

The merman turned away, and though it was very low, Alfred was certain he picked up a weak __"Stubborn human."__ But unless he had lost his mind, he believed the merman was now at least considering the idea, which was a big improvement to just a few minutes ago.

This observation was confirmed not too long after as the merman, after lying curled up like a wobbly ball in the bottom of the boat without a word, stretched his neck and curled his fingers around the edge to lift himself up a little. He peeked over the wooden edge, and Alfred could see the merman's shattered, fluttering reflection in the night-black ocean. The murmur and rippling sound of the moving water was filling their ears, though luckily Alfred had made sure to let the rope run long enough for their little boat to evade the worst of the aftermath coursing in the wake of the big vessel in front of them.

In between sounds that resembled loud whispers, he could hear the baritone groans emanating from his ship. He had to look up at it now while the mythical creature was occupied with the water. It looked so much bigger from this angle than he usually thought it was. Dark and looming, like a lost mountain crossing the vast sea to find its original roosting place. The wood was coloured nearly black by the deep shadow the helm cast. The young captain was soon lost in his own thoughts, tracing the elegant outline of his trusty ship; how it seemed like a dream, cast in shrouded moonlight and despite its weight and size somehow staying afloat.

Alfred did not shift his attention until something else than waves rocked the little boat and he found the source to be the merman having slithered back down into the belly of the longboat. His eyes were downcast, lashes overshadowing them and brows furrowing with emotion. His arms hugged his fair-skinned frame and he refused the meet the eyes of the captain. Alfred's expression mimicked that of the merman's, and in thought he let his hand slip over the edge of the boat and touch the cold salt water. He pulled in a silent breath, sighing as he stood gently not disrupt the longboat. He climbed across two sitting planks, sitting down in front of the merman.

"Mer —" he began, but cut himself off. Puffing out his cheeks a little, he held a small breath before letting it out, and he said, "Arthur. …It's not dangerous." The merman tensed. Alfred dipped his hand in the water again, this time cupping a handful of it, and bringing his hand back slowly, he gently poured over the merman's head. "It's just water. You'll do fine."

What little liquid Alfred's hand had held trickled in singular beads from the top of the merman's head, pulled downwards by gravity at slow, individual paces. They followed different strands of hair, a few small beads having followed after each other and gathering into one large ball of translucent liquid at the end of a sandy-coloured strand. It hang there, gleaming in the sparse light, much like a rare gem, before a subtle movement — whether it was from the boat or merman was hard to tell — made it fall. The merman's green eyes shifted, blinked, looked up at the captain. He opened his mouth but closed it again without a sound having come out. His eyes flickered once; he looked as though he was being pulled and squeezed between two opposite poles of his mind.

Then the green-eyed male shook his head slowly.

Captain Alfred F. Jones was struck by an urge to chuck a certain green-eyed, sandy blond merman into the pitch black waves around them. He had come across many different kinds of phobias and scared people in his life, and the fear of water was not exactly unheard of — but this was a creature that was half-man, half-__fish___,_ for crying out loud. Alfred __convinced__ the man would enjoy the ocean once he had taken the first step. He breathed it, he was born to swim in it all his life — heck, he was __born in water__ (most likely at least; Alfred had no actual idea where or how mermaids gave birth).

But Alfred reined in his feelings. Even he could tell, despite how incredibly light-spirited he had been all day, that throwing the merman into the water was not something he could do. He needed to be realistic. This whole situation was absurd enough as it was.

For a brief second, he felt as though he was on the outside looking in, surveying his own situation, and it took quite a bit of will power not to start laughing. A human was trying to teach a merman who could not swim, to swim. Oh dear.

Alfred sucked in the cool night air and glanced around. He shifted on the plank and lifted himself down into the belly of the boat, wedged between two sitting planks. He linked his arms leisurely around his knees, leaning his head back so it rested on the wooden edge and his eyes were directed up to the sky. He let out a slow breath, and sat like this for a while. It was actually quite nice, and he wondered distantly why he had never thought of trailing after the ship in a longboat before.

After a short eternity of quiet, Alfred tilted his head slightly so he had the merman in his peripheral vision. Keeping his eyes on the sky, singling out whatever star signs he knew of and the more familiar dots of lights he used to navigate by, he spoke into the cool air, "At least try to stick your hand in the water. It will feel a lot different from the water that goes stagnant in your tank, I can assure you."

No immediate movement in response was to be seen, but the captain told himself that was to be expected. But then, as though he was finally making a decision, the merman pushed himself up a little again to retain his former position, mirrored by the water below. His chin just barely cleared the boat edge, but he was leaning his face forwards so he could see the water sloshing against and off of the boat side. The merman snaked one arm across the wooden edge and Alfred's senses perked up. He sat very still, keeping a close eye on the other as subtly as he could. The merman's eyes were fixed on the water.

His fingertips touched by the cold water, then the rest of his hand followed. It took only a few seconds; at first he seemed indifferent, just looking down. But then, his face appeared to light up, starting in his eyes and spreading outwards. It was not the kind of delight that came with a child's joy over receiving a present. Instead, it was more like the surging of life and immense focus, as well as wonder.

Alfred smiled slightly to himself, but did still not move. He left the merman to test the water, dip his arm further down and then pull it up again, so only his fingers skimmed the water and made little tails of spraying water drops in their wake. The merman's face gradually, as the time passed by, went from strong wonder to relaxed with a strange, softly content expression. Alfred waited until this happened, and until the merman had laid his head to rest against the edge, his hand simply hanging down into the water. Then the captain got some rope that had lain, rolled up, under one of the planks not too far away, and gently got up from his spot to sit on the plank in front of the merman again.

"Come on," he said, almost in a whisper. "Let me help you." He held the rope out, not verbalising what he intended it for; that was obvious enough. He had moved almost before the merman gave a reply.

It was very slight; a small, jerky motion, as though he wasn't sure what he was getting into, but it was a nod. Alfred smiled, looping the rope around the merman's middle, tying a knot and asking if it was too tight. The merman shook his head. Alfred shifted to the side, making room on the plank between himself and the edge. He pulled the merman up onto the plank next to him, and pausing only for a few seconds to steady himself, the merman slowly retracted his tail. He lifted it up from the bottom of the boat, so it was partially curled against him, and he had to lean against Alfred to slowly and gingerly lower his translucent tail fin into the cold water.

The captain could feel the brief shiver going through the merman as the end of the tail submerged. Slowly the rest of the tail followed, and Alfred, not really sure how best to hold, grabbed the merman by the waist to support him and keep the weight from sending him plummeting directly into the water.

They had gotten quite far by now; the merman was sitting on the edge, Alfred balancing out the weight in the boat to keep them from capsizing. A wave crashed against the merman's tail and sprayed salty water up across his side and stomach, and Alfred could feel him tense. The wave, having been slightly bigger than the others, caused the longboat to heave, and the merman's hands that had held onto the edge and plank flew to Alfred's shoulders. They dug into the fabric of his coat, tightening into fists as he froze in place.

"You're almost there," Alfred coaxed soothingly. "It's safe; I won't let you go until you're ready."

After a small break where both sat still, the merman moved again and continued on the gradual descend into the water. There was a sharp gasp when his belly went under, and soon he was chest-deep in the water. His eyes met Alfred's; they were wide and wild, the former wonder seemingly forgotten as the merman now looked like he would more than anything prefer to be back in the boat. The captain could have none of that. He was starting to grow cold, as his trousers had gotten wet too and he had not changed them. He would not have all these hours spent in this longboat gone to waste.

"You're doing great," he said. "When you get into the water, just hang onto the edge. If you lose your grip, the rope will hold you." He smiled encouragingly, and lowered the merman the remaining distance into the water. At the same time he let his hands slide along the other's arms, releasing his hold on the merman's shoulder and instead taking a hold of his wrists. The merman's hands were clutching desperately to the boat edge, having made a strangled noise when water suddenly rushed over his shoulders instead of sloshing against his midriff.

The merman lay stiffly in the water. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wooden edge, eyes blindly staring and breath coming in short, shallow puffs. Then slowly something seemed to change. His expression and posture remained the same, but instead of bearing resemblance to a human thrown into all too cold water, he reminded Alfred of someone who was listening intently. A little like he would do himself, when he tried to hear one particular sound through a lot of noise. Senses taught, the rest of the body completely still so as not to divert any concentration or focus from the ears. That was what the mermaid looked like, as though he was sensing for something in particular, not sure if there was anything, therefore trying to take it all in to see if he could pick up something out of the ordinary.

Alfred sat back a little — well, as far 'back' as he could while keeping his hold on the merman's wrists — and watched in silence. The merman did not seem like he dared move a muscle at first, but then a shiver went through him and he looked to the left, out onto the black sea. His fingers were still wrapped tightly around the boat edge, but his attention was on the waves reaching as far as the eye could see. The boat rocked from side to side, from front to back, depending on how the waves carried them. It would have not been the ideal surroundings to teach someone to swim for the first time, Alfred thought, but at the same time he knew this was as still the ocean would ever lie.

It was as he thought himself, or the merman, or them both, lucky with the weather that a stray wave rolled into the side of the boat. The captain would not go as far as to say anything was regular, or dancing by a rhythm, when it came to the vast salt waters of the world. But he still chose to call this one slightly irregular from the rest, as that was really the best way to describe it. It was not a big change, or a problem in any way, having probably been caused by some trivial underwater current or other. Still, it appeared to make all the changes in the world for the merman.

He didn't make a sound, no verbal responses, only visual ones; the merman went from floating motionlessly in the water to frantically clawing onto Alfred's fore and upper arms. Whatever had caught his attention out in the water was completely forgotten. He had curled up, practically retracting his entire body to the boat, clinging to it as he tried to lift himself out of the water. It was now that Captain Alfred properly understood what physically happens to a person, a living being, when confined to a small room with little opportunity to move all their life. There was next to no strength in the merman's arms.

Hastily, as panic flared in the merman's eyes, Alfred grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him into the boat in one, strained heave.

The two overbalanced into the boat, falling over to hit the sitting planks painfully as the boat threatened to capsize for a few crucial moments. The smaller man jerked the rest of his tail out of the water, slipping down from his half-lying, half-sitting position against one of the sitting planks, to lie on the boat flooring. He had to curl up to fit within the crescent walls.

Alfred also shifted from his landing position, getting up from where he was sprawled uncomfortably, rubbing a few sore spots and relieved it didn't feel like anything was broken — the fall had been harder than he anticipated it would. As his pains quickly went from piercing to more dully aching, he discovered that the merman had relocated to the floor.

For a split second, he had been about to reach out and apologise, to say they had moved too quickly and that everything was okay. But as he looked at the blankly staring eyes and shaking form, he could only bite his lip and sit down heavily and soundlessly. Right now, despite his first intuition, he believed physical contact would not do much good. So, he sat back, wet, and with his hands in his lap, looking at the night sky and mentally pointing out celestial constellations. After a little while of nothing, suddenly inspired by the constellation of the Lyra he had just spotted, Alfred started humming gently.

* * *

><p>He hadn't paid much heed to the time, and could therefore not make any assumptions of how long they had stayed there when looking back on the event later. What he knew was that it had taken a while for the merman to calm down properly. His body had continued to tremble, but Alfred's intuitional inspiration must have been a good call, for slowly, but surely, the merman eased into a more relaxed posture. Even as he appeared to breathe normally again however, the captain continued to hum. He only stopped when he had to pull the longboat up on the deck again, as the effort of his muscles made it impossible to hum at the same time. But, Alfred thought to himself as he secured the ropes and positioning the boat right, he chose to believe that the merman had enjoyed the last part somewhat. Or, at least, had seemed to listen to the sound of the waves and feel the rocking of the boat, and become more comfortable. So the night's events had not been in vain.<p>

Now though, Alfred was back to having his clothes become even more soaking wet as he half- pulled, half-carried the merman across the deck, not looking up at the helmsman. He made it to his cabin, left the merman on the tank edge to get into the water by his own devices, and went to close the door. When he turned away from the shut entrance, he caught the merman gazing somewhat longingly out the door before swiftly looking at something else within the room, and Alfred felt a small thrill of satisfaction. He let out a deep breath and realised how truly exhausted he was. It was no real wonder, though.

Outside, a blue line, contrasting with the black night sky, traced the horizon. Morning was slowly drawing near and Alfred could feel his joints starting to ache dully; a certain sign of having been awake for all too long. But there was no time to rest just yet.

He flung his coat across the back of his chair, stripping out of his shirt while at the same time kicking off his shoes. He threw a look at the merman.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, finding a new set of dry clothes to replace the wet ones. He threw another glance at the merman from one of the drawers in his dresser and saw him shake his head. Just as well. He had originally planned to go for a brief visit to the kitchen for some food before he went to bed, but during the hours spent in the boat observing the merman he had come to think of something. It had not properly crossed his mind before — perhaps once or twice, briefly, but he had always abandoned the thought as an unwise idea. Now however, his mind was changed; he felt he had stayed ignorant far longer than he should.

Alfred swung on a new, dry coat and stuffed his shirt into his trouser properly. He buttoned up the long, fit waistcoat he wore over it, correcting a few things here and there about his attire to make sure everything was worn perfectly like a proper navy captain. His body was screaming for sleep, but in the longboat he had decided that now was as good a time as any for what he planned to do — perhaps even better, as it was still night.

Therefore, the captain told himself to look sharp, fastened his sword to his belt, checked his gun, and grabbed a lantern from his nightstand, lighting it. Upon seeing everything was in good shape, he headed for the door. On the way he ran a hand across his face and through his hair, in hope it would smooth away any traces of fatigue.

"I will be back shortly," he said when his pushed down the door handle, simply because he felt he should say something before leaving. Casting a glance in the merman's direction, he briefly pondered whether he should say something more. But he deemed 'good night' to be too strange, and therefore said nothing more as he once again entered the cool night air.

Crossing the few steps between his door and the one leading into the rest of the ship, he was soon back inside. He closed the door softly without a sound and began walking equally silently down the staircase, past the gun deck with the chamber containing ammunition in one end, and continued downwards. He passed by rows of hammocks, a smile gliding onto his face as he looked at his sleeping sailors. But he continued on, passed some stacks of supplies and finally reached his destination.

The brig.

Captain Alfred unlocked the door built to block screams and other unwanted sounds and keep them from disturbing the ship's crew. His keys clinked and jingled as he found the right one and turned it in the lock. The captain let himself in, sliding the door shut behind him.

With lantern in hand, Alfred lit up the room around him, even though he knew perfectly well what it looked like. Three cells walled up by thick black iron bars met his eyes, two of which were empty. In the third, a man lay slumped against the wall, sleeping. Alfred crossed the floor almost soundlessly, his shoes only making smallest of noises each time the heel met the floorboards. He stopped in front of the cell, butting his shoe twice on one of the bars.

"Hey," he said. "Wake up." The man stirred, but did not do as he was told. Alfred looked around. A tray stood by the cell door, an empty metal plate on it. He crouched down and grabbed the plate through the bars before hitting it to the black iron firmly. "Hey!" he called again, louder this time.

The metal plate and iron bars made an uncomfortable, piercing sound and the man jerked where he lay. His head snapped up and he blinked groggily several times, moaned and grumbled something, shielding his squinting eyes for the light from Alfred's lantern. Alfred dropped the plate and hung the lantern on a hook by the cell door. He put his hands in his pockets, standing and looking down on the pub keeper with cold eyes.

"I am going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer."

* * *

><p><strong>AN. <strong>_**I AM SO, SO, SO SORRY!**_** It took really long this time. But at least the chapter is nice and long, yeah? Please don't hate me. '^'**

**I have been battling a horrible writer's block (so I'm a little worried about the "quality" of this chapter, but I still hope you enjoyed it). **

**And then I want to give a little bit of a shout-out to **_Corei_**, someone who reviewed to the last chapter but didn't do so with an account. Therefore I reply here: **

_Yes, please do stalk me forever. :3 It'd be me an honour and my pleasure~ _

**Now, (oh dear, it made me so happy you have no idea people), **_**Sunny-blue-sea**_**; I love you, please marry me. She made the first fanart I have ever received and I was about to die with joy! ** 28 . media . tumblr tumblr_m20dd63kPg1rphf87o1_ ****(without all the spaces, of course). Isn't it beautiful! Gah, I love, love, love it so much! Here is her tumblr page where she posted it: ****sunnybluesea . tumblr . com

****Lastly, the best beta on earth who betaed this chapter for me: geekisthenewawesome. :D****


	9. Chapter 9

It took a while for the pub keeper's brain to catch up with events. Wen Alfred thought he finally had, he realised the filthy-looking blob of a man who had only managed to register that there was someone standing by his cell.

"The captain…" the man said slowly. He squinted, blinked, frowned, and rubbed his eyes before squinting again, "is it?"

"Yes." Alfred reined in his growing impatience to the best of his ability. The pub keeper mumbled some incoherent words to himself and fumbled about a little where he sat before he tried to stand. It did not turn out to be a very successful attempt, and the man soon slumped back against the curved inside of the ship and slid back to the floor. Upon seeing that his legs were not to be trusted in his current state, the pub keeper appeared to make do with crawling a little closer and settling against the only one other thing occupying his cell: a small, three-legged stool.

The pub keeper coughed and cleared his throat in a rather distasteful manner, before he renewed his attention on the captain and finally looked ready for them to get somewhere. The man was even awake enough to laugh a little, in a huffing, hoarse manner. "And what have I done to have my humble abode honoured by the presence of the great captain himself?"

Alfred ignored it, as the prisoner's sarcastic pleasantries were nothing new to him. He had heard much wittier things come from much shabbier-looking captives than the one before him. What with his line of work, those iron cells were rarely empty, after all. But the pub keeper wasn't done yet.

"How may I be of service?" He gave the captain on the other side of the bars a sloppy and very unflattering smile. But Alfred ignored that as well without moving a muscle and cut straight to the chase.

"I want you to tell me of the merman." He let a few moments pass for the words to sink in with the prisoner before he continued. "How did you acquire him? For how long was he imprisoned in your pub? What did you do to him?" By the end of his low but intense inquiry, he was leaning in close, one hand gripping the bars. But by no other means did his body language betray his mood, and Alfred mentally scolded himself for even letting that much emotion slip through. Fair enough, this man was not amongst the brightest he had had on board — not by a long shot. Regardless, it was vital for a man of the navy not to let a prisoner get any kind of hold on him, be it through his emotions or otherwise. He let go of the bars, knuckles slightly stiff; he had gripped it quite hard.

Again, the pub keeper's brain crawled at a snail's pace towards understanding. When he did, however, Alfred noticed it by the messy change of expressions crossing the man's face. Some were harder than others to make out in the sparse light, but he saw brief realisation, rumination, a distant look that seemed reminiscent. This soon gave way to an assortment of other unclear emotions, though one of them the captain recognised to be indescribable fear as the pub keeper's eyes darted to ship's side and a light tremble went through him.

"The merman," he all but whispered. "A merman. From the ocean. His kin." His eyes suddenly flew wide open, pupils retracting despite the sparse lighting. "_They whisper to me._" His breathing escalated, becoming ragged, hurried gasps, bordering on hyperventilation. The pub keeper's head reeled, and he clung to the stool and to Alfred. He looked like a man caught in a heavy storm, waves and wind causing his balance to fail him as he rocked drunkenly in uneven, circular motions. All the while, his eyes darted about the dim room, not settling on any specific spot for many seconds at a time.

Captain Alfred stood motionless as he watched, a frown settling on his face at the scene that played out before him. It was not necessary unusual for prisoners and people locked up to go, well, slightly less sane than they were to begin with, yet he could not suppress the uncomfortable prickle crawling up his spine. The metal platter was on the floor by his left foot and he picked it up and slammed it hard against the bars. "Pull yourself together, man!" he commanded.

The pub keeper started, curling up even tighter against the stool as though wishing to merge with it at the abruptly intruding noise. He stared with wide eyes toward Alfred's space, for a few moments seemingly unable to focus on him before the captain made eye contact. He nervously licked his upper lip, and in the sparse light Alfred could see sweat glistening on the ragged man's skin.

Alfred surveyed the scene, then made up his mind and squatted down on his side of the bars, bringing his eyes on level with the prisoner's. Alfred was weary and he wanted to sleep, but he wanted answers first and he wanted them now.

"For how long did you have the merman?" he asked. His voice was low, firm, but not unkind. With the man's current mental state he would get nowhere by coldly forcing the answers out of him.

"I —" the pub keeper's voice broke. He coughed, and his eyes fell to focus somewhere on the floor beneath the captain. "I don't know," he said, a furrow appearing between his brows. "Many years. Fifty — sixty, I don't know… seventy-five, seventy-seven — I can't remember. Maybe more. Probably more."

The captain doubted he would get a more specific answer, and moved on. "How did you capture him?"

The pub keeper's attention seemed to swivel again. Upon seeing this, Alfred leaned hurriedly closer to the bars, the intensity of his voice growing. He urged the man, "_How_? How did you manage to catch a merman?"

The rugged man began slowly shaking his head — though not as a form of denial but rather as though he was not sure he believed the answer he had in his mind. "It took many years," he began, slightly unsteadily. "It was by chance. Though it wasn't me…. No it wasn't me. It was my dad." The man frowned at himself, shook his head again, and tried to focus on the captain. "Told me the story many times, 'e did. His pride and joy, I suppose. He was thirty –forty, maybe, I don't know…" the pub keeper drifted off and it took many minutes before he started talking again. As though the pause had never happened.

"He got a bit lost, found a small lagoon. He could look down on it from a low height. The weather was good; it made the water so clear. And there" — his tongue quickly slithered out to wet his lips — "he saw them. There were many, many mermaids, they played in the water. He ran." He took a small pause again, looking for the next words as he constantly licked his lips. His voice was uneven when he spoke; it was as though he could not string together a proper sentence, merely wording the story as it came to him in bits and pieces. Finally, his lips grasped around the form of a word, and he continued. "My father's pub was small. An old sailor came one day, told many tales of mermaids and ships, told of a man who would pay to see one. Oh, he would pay a great amount for the opportunity."

For the first time, Alfred saw a smile emerge on the pub keeper's face. His expression turned dreamy, looking out into empty air as he perhaps relived a part of his life in his mind. Then his eyes darted back to the captain and he quickly licked his lips once more.

"Most are scared of them, see," he said with a new sort of eagerness, eyes gleaming. "But there are those who are curious, who lust for the unknown. It took a while to convince the old sailor — he wouldn't believe father at first. When he did, they found the rich man, heard his offer." The prisoner's voice dimmed to a whisper, an insane grin pulling his lips apart. "It was a lot of money, captain. Enough to make the old sailor help without a second thought. It took a long time, a year, more, but they found them again." He leaned back a little, carrying on in a more relaxed manner, though the glint in his eyes and smile remained. "They are nothing in particular, the merpeople."

Captain Alfred did not let any changes in emotion slip onto his face, but on the inside he could feel his entire body tensing, as though shielding itself, ready to ward off any oncoming attacks. Though there was no actual threat in the room, only the prisoner was there with him, separated from him by strong iron — yet the prisoner's words, voice and bearing altogether, sent his feelings racing. And he got the strangest sensation, that they were not alone.

Nevertheless, he did not interrupt. He had come for answers, and thinking of how the pub keeper had behaved at first, he would not risk pulling the man out of his flow and not getting to know any more. So Alfred kept silent, observing, but staying highly alert.

"Of course, many of the stories you hear are true, and they possess," the pub keeper wet his lips again, "tremendous powers. One should definitely be careful when dealing with them. But in the end, Captain, they are just animals. They have their strengths, but they also have their weaknesses, and a patient hunter will always find them." He grinned, as if he had just won first prize in a grand competition. Alfred did not like the way he was being looked at, but said nothing. "Father was obsessed. When he told the story, he would always say "_remember son, stay upwind, an' you can get as close as you want_". Had he been at sea though, they would have noticed him miles away. On land they are rendered with the same senses as a human. He watched them for years, documented everything he learned, their behaviour, their daily routines- did you know," his eyes turned wild for a second and he hitched himself slightly higher against the stool, "that they have a fascination for instrumental music? Ironic, isn't it?" The pub keeper stared, waiting excited, much like a child, but Alfred gave him nothing. It did not seem to faze the old man.

"Their breeding season was easy to calculate. Like many big mammals, they only get one offspring at a time, very rarely two. The mer-spawn themselves are weak, defenceless, they keep close to their parents. On clear days the mermaids bring their spawn to shallow lagoons to relax or teach them their way of life. Now you see, _captain,_" The man leaned forwards again, showcasing his rotting teeth as he eyed the captain in mockery, obviously finding himself one step above the naval _personnel_, "merfolk regard themselves as inferior, and so they never expect to be attacked. By anything. They have the ocean as their playground, and may easily charm you to bend you to their will, but they have no power over land. If you take away their manipulation over sound, then they have no power at all."

Ill foreboding surged through Alfred in a numbing wave, and it took all of his willpower to stay motionless. Only his fingers betrayed him as they dug into the palms of his hands.

"It was a late spring night when they decided to do it. Merfolk hunt at night, but still enjoy the sun, so those not hunting sleep. Father had been keeping an eye on a particular mermaid, she got a new spawn earlier that spring. He knew where she was resting, below the surface, even though he could not see them, they could hear him if he were not quiet. Made it all the way to the bottom of a few cliffs the two did, the old sailor had a music box, one of those wind-up ones. They set it up on the edge of a flat rock, built a subtle snare around it, and hid upwind.

"A right curious thing that little one was, soon up by the rock, looking at the music box. I suppose it wanted to take the music box with it to its mother" – he stopped, tilting his head at the captain, still grinning – "but just as it touched the box, the snare snapped around its wrist. The little thing screamed so loudly, they had to be quick to get out of physical reach from the water. It didn't take long for the rest of the flock to wake.

"Oh, the lagoon was seething with life. So many merfolk had come, and they screeched at father, sang at him, the foolish creatures. Father saw the one they'd stolen from; tried to sing her treacherous tunes to get her spawn back. But the old sailor and he had stuffed their ear with wet moss, they couldn't hear a thing."

Alfred stirred; the pub keeper's voice had a sense of finality to it. He rose from his crouched position. He knew had it not been for the stern and thorough training he had undergone becoming a sailor, officer and later captain, he would have already unlocked the door and buried his fist in the prisoner's face. The man had such a triumphant look oh his face. But Alfred kept his cool exterior (though had to wait a few moments before he could trust his voice) and asked, "How old was he?"

"When they took 'im?" The pub keeper scratched his chin. "I asked the same thing. Father said it was hard to say, but a few months, he used to recon, not many. Fragile little thing the spawn was, wailed terribly, but had they waited much longer, it would have been a lot harder. The mer-spawn learn early enough."

"Did he never develop proper abilities as one of the merfolk, then?" Alfred asked flatly, regarding the man with analysing eyes.

"Oh no, it did develop, all right. Lies in the blood, the instincts," yhe man shrugged dismissively. "But it was small, made it easier to subdue, to control. You have to break 'em in early, you know."

The young captain could feel his every muscle was tense, trembling slightly with the effort. He could not do anything, not here, not now; he had to keep calm. The pub keeper would get his punishment in due time when they reached the mainland. Perhaps not for what he had done to the merfolk, but at least for the crimes he had committed against the government. And Alfred would make certain the punishment was severe.

He had just decided he had heard enough for this session, and was about to turn and leave, when the prisoner's voice breached the air again.

"So they showed him to the rich man, got their reward. Was a mighty trouble with the little spawn, wouldn't shut up. Wanted to leave it somewhere, would have done it too, had it not been for rumours starting to run and more people showing up to see it. Finally, father got the genius idea of using it to draw people to his little pub. It was a success; made for a good business to inherit," the prisoner's eyes twinkled hungrily, before a grimace took over. "Only later did father see it was a male, and not a female. Impossible to see the difference when they're small. Would have preferred a mermaid." The pub keeper proceeded to rock forwards, his hands landing heavily on the floor, and crawled over to the iron bars. Alfred could feel the corners of his mouth pull outwards a little in disgust.

"It was a right rebel, tried to entrance me with its singing as soon as it grew older. Tried a lot of things it did, the little demon. Must be giving you a lot of trouble as well," he said, and grabbed onto the bars so he could raise himself slightly from the floor, looking up at Alfred. "Say, how about it, captain? I tell you some of my secrets that will give you peace with the bugger and you let me go once we get to port?"

Filthy vermin. "I don't make agreements with prisoners," Captain Alfred said with the hint of a sneer, gazing down on the pub keeper with eyes full of resentment.

"Well- well- …how-how about just softening the penalty, then?" The man started to sound more panicked. He tried to reach through the bars for Alfred, grasping after him in the air like a beggar. "It is easy to still the animal! It's only a matter of putting something in its food; shards of glass, light poison, anything! Will teach it a right lesson, it will, and render it unable to sing for a while as well. Should he try any of his hypnotic powers, there are poisons, poisons you need only throw in the water and they will hurt his gills and eyes. You only have to act quickly, before it has time to ensnare you. It's easy!" The pub keeper was yelling now, gripping wildly at empty air. But it was no use.; Alfred had turned and was walking away, shutting his ears to the desperate pleas with thunder in his eyes.

* * *

><p>It was a rarity. That was really all the crew could think. The majority of them had been sailing that ship since Alfred got his position, but that did not make much of a difference; even those few who had just been aboard for a year or so were nervous. Yes, <em>nervous<em>: that would be the best way to describe their behaviour. Muttered gossip spread across the vessel like bushfire, but no one seemed to know the reason behind the '_rarity_':

Captain Alfred Jones was in a bad mood.

This did not happen often, even when taking the nature of their occupation into consideration. Ever since the first sailors had seen him that morning, he had been brooding. He was clearly not simply mildly troubled, or weary, either. No, as the hours dragged on into the day, it became clear to everyone his mood was flat-out foul. Something had gotten him properly wound up, yet the crewmembers could not bring themselves to actually ask the man. Therefore, they were left to speculations.

Aaron, upon remembering he had seen Alfred on the helm when he had climbed his way to the crow's nest in the morning, worked out that the helmsman must have been the first person to see the captain that day. So, when lunch time had come around, and he had come down from the top of the mast, he had immediately gone to find the stoic Alaskan man. The young lookout was in for a disappointment, however, as Eska had only shrugged. When Aaron continued to prod and make wild suggestions, he had added that whatever had gotten the captain in this mood in the first place was probably none of their business if the captain did not choose to share it with them.

"If it was in any way essential for our work or mission, he would have told us," the helmsman said with a sense of calm finality, and left Aaron to frown then shake his head with a sigh, returning to his post.

Alfred himself had not thought at all about whether or not it was important for the sailors to know. All day — and what had been left of the night by the time he had gotten back to his cabin — he had been too occupied with his midnight visit. Of course, in later events he would think that it was not strictly necessary for the crew to have known, so he had not exactly kept anything vital from them. But at the current point in time he had not even faintly evaluated this.

What he had thought about, however — and that a great deal — was whether he should confront the merman on what he had learned. Not that he doubted any of it to be true; it fit with the merman's behavioural pattern throughout his stay on the ship, and the pub keeper had not looked to be in any mental condition to tell a believable lie. But he wanted to hear the merman's side of the story, learn more, and simply talk about his experiences in general.

As he mulled it over in his mind, Alfred realised he wanted to make some sort of amends for the treatment the merman had been subject to. He did not yet know what he could do, but as a human, he felt responsible in some way for the pub keeper's actions.

He had been about to share what had happened when he returned to his cabin that night. He had returned inside, and the merman had been waiting for him, watching as he closed the door and shrugged off his coat. The green orbs in the water had caught Alfred's eyes, and he had felt the questions press forward in the back of his throat, wanting to be spoken. Did the merman at all remember the actual event? And, he had wondered as something had clenched in his chest, did merpeople have the same bond to their mothers as humans did? A human child of a few months (or a year — however old the merman had been) would never have remembered the event. Yet, as Captain Alfred had gazed into the water-being's deep, strangely luminous eyes, he somehow believed that the merman would be able to recall. Alfred could not bring himself to awaken the merman's memories of the kidnapping. Perhaps at another time, on another day, but he decided that, at that moment, it would be best if they stayed focused on the swimming.

Therefore, when morning came around, he had left the cabin and fetched the merman breakfast, before going to the helm and essentially staying outside the entire day. He stared at the horizon, the events of the night playing over and over again in his head. Only when it was time for dinner did he leave the wheel to eat below deck. He nodded at the helmsman, who came to take over the steering, and climbed down to consume his meal in thoughtful silence. He spent most of his time staring down at the food, eating slowly and sometimes forgetting his hand, fork paused in mid-air.

No one disturbed him, most of the men having already finished their food while he waited for the helmsman; the remaining sailors stayed respectfully clear of him. By the time Alfred had finished his food, he was the last one left. He handed his plate back to the burly cook, and was about to return to the deck when he spotted a man carrying a tray in the opposite direction of where he himself was headed.

"Sailor!" he called out, promptly halting the man and making him turn around. Alfred crossed the floor with brisk steps, so he would not have to yell halfway across the indoor deck.

"Captain." The sailor saluted as he headed over, nodding with his head as both his hands were occupied. Apparently, he had never mastered the skill of balancing a tray singlehandedly, but it was hardly of any importance to a sailor.

"Where are you headed?" Alfred asked, eyeing the simple food presented.

"To feed the prisoner in the brig, sir," the sailor dutifully replied.

A cold rush went up the blond captain's spine, closely followed by uncomfortable warmth. He had the sudden desire to put something in the food before he let the sailor go. Glass shards, preferably, or light poison. Wooden splinters would also do, his mind supplemented in a heated haze, noting the wooden floorboards, ceiling and walls all around them.

But he couldn't do that. Regardless of the itching in his fingers, he couldn't do that. So, although it took quite a bit of self-control, he sent the sailor on his way. The man nodded again in a hands-free salute, turned, and the captain's eyes rested on his back as he walked away. Alfred would not sink to the level of the pub keeper.

* * *

><p>Toris Laurinaitis, quartermaster as well as a good friend of the captain, was worried. He had been all day, to tell the truth, starting at mild curiosity and escalating through the day to full-on concern. But he hadn't pressed the captain on the matter in any way, choosing to wait until Alfred felt ready to tell him. The quartermaster knew, of course, that if it was a threat to the ship and crew the captain was worried about, he would have been the first to know, and quickly. So in that regard, Toris was not too worried; rather, he was concerned for Alfred on a personal level. It didn't get any better when the captain gathered the crew for night orders, before the night shifts started.<p>

"I repeat my orders from yesterday: take down the main sails and go get a proper night's rest, all of you. Dismissed." Alfred made a hand movement and the salutes and 'yes, sir!'s resounded through the crew, though tinted with suppressed confusion. Toris took it upon himself to speak on their behalf.

"Again, captain?" he asked slowly, unsure. As he glanced about the crew, he knew none of them — himself included — were very eager to do anything less than fulfil Alfred's every wish at the moment, hoping to soothe the normally kind captain's unknown troubles. But, he still felt it necessary to comment, just in case. "I agree the possibility of meeting someone out here is slim, but it has been known to happen." He let the full implication of his words linger in the air, and watched as Alfred looked at the crew, a thoughtful expression on his face.

For several minutes, the captain said nothing, and the small furrow between his brows that had been there all day grew deeper. Finally he said, hesitantly, "Fair enough. Quartermaster, take the crow's nest."

And thus it was to be. The captain retreated to the confinements of his cabin, and the crew went about their end-of-the-day tasks under the quartermaster's supervision. He got a small packet of provisions from the cook, found a thick coat and hat, and went to look up at the main mast with its crow's nest resting at the top. Aaron was on his way down, and jumped the last few metres to the deck. Toris gave him the captain's instructions, and in return Aaron handed him his marine telescope. As the quartermaster headed for the broad rope ladder, the lookout gave him a cheerful pat on the back.

After that, all Toris could do was pull in a deep breath and slowly climb the thick ropes. He had been up in the crow's nest once during his entire service under Alfred Jones, and only twice during his time as a cadet. But, he thought after reaching the wooden bucket, pulling in a few steadying breaths and taking into view his full surroundings, it was not all bad. At least, not after the first hour, when he began getting used to the rocking of the mast top. And that was not just the ship's rocking, but also a light swinging motion brought on from the wind and its height, like the tops of old, tall pine trees.

For a while, he had entertained himself by looking down on the dark deck and trying to distinguish different things he knew were down there in the shadows. The night sky was covered by a layer of thin clouds, leaving the deck nearly black in lack of light. Yet Toris could spot the helmsman as a motionless, small, dark silhouette, almost blending in entirely with the rest of the deck. Had he not known he was there, Toris wouldn't have been able to see him, which was why it was not so strange that it took a while before he noticed the other black figure that was crossing the deck. At first, when he finally did notice, he thought it to merely be his eyes playing tricks on him.

The figure disappeared, but reappeared a little later, seemingly materialising on the middle of the deck (though that was probably just because Toris' eyes had not been able to detect it sooner). This time it appeared bigger and considerably slower. As a matter of fact, it was moving rather oddly. It went over to one of the darker parts of the deck where it merged with another black object, and Toris couldn't see anything more for a little while. Then the object suddenly disappeared and he saw the figure hunched over the edge of the ship before disappearing as well.

Puzzled, Toris scanned the deck, but could not see anything else. At first, he contemplated climbing down to properly find out what that had been, but he spotted the helmsman's silhouette still motionless on the helm. This had to mean that whatever it was he had seen was not of an alarming nature. Either that, or it had been an optical illusion.

He let the matter slide and returned all his attention to the task at hand: keeping watch. Just then, however, there was a small gap in the cloud coverage and moonlight reached through, glittering dully on the wave tops. Amidst the billows, almost in a straight line from behind the ship, was a dark, oval shape. Toris looked, squeezed his eyes shut to rub them, and looked again, squinting. He had probably spent a whole of five minutes trying to decide what it was he was seeing when he remembered the telescope he had put in his pocket, and brought it out. Placing it to his eye, he took a few moments to locate the object, but he found it eventually, and with the moon illuminating the scene, he could see two persons in one of the ship's long boats. His surprise only grew when he – after more squinting and refocusing of the device – with difficulty recognised none other than the captain and – Toris gaped – the merman.

* * *

><p>The days passed, and Alfred took to the bad habit of being the last to wake. This was not a wonder, as he was spending half the night outside in a small rowboat, but the rest of the crew didn't know of this little fact, and the new aspect to their captain's daily routine only added to their confusion.<p>

The helmsman and quartermaster said nothing, and though Alfred had been prepared to talk, the quartermaster did not ask any questions after his first watch. He only sent a few glances every now and then in the captain's direction, but that was also all for a few days.

He and Toris made the mute agreement that Toris would return inside when Alfred did, and send out one of the other sailors to stand guard in his place when he did so. The quartermaster needed his sleep as well, after all, something which brought him to ponder something else; namely that he could not remember to ever having seen the merman sleep. Alfred could only guess the merman slept while he did, but he was always awake when Alfred woke up or came to see to him, so it was indeed curious. However, besides this small fact, the captain had a very good feeling in his gut when it came to the merman.

On the first night – that is to say, the _second_ of actual swimming, but the first with Toris in the crow's nest – the merman had not done much. They had mainly sat in the boat in silence, the merman tentatively sticking his hand in the water and then remaining like that for a few hours. Alfred had attempted a little bit of small talk toward the end, but was not answered – not that that dampened his spirits. He decided to believe his talking was encouraging the merman and putting him at ease with the water, even if he did not say anything in return.

The second night proceeded more or less like the first, though on the third the merman finally dared slip his translucent fin back in the water. He did not go any further than that, but Alfred was far from discouraged. Quite the opposite, really.

On the third day, that is to say the day between the third and fourth night, Toris came to stand mutely beside Alfred on the helm. He joined the captain in staring out on the sea and linked his hands behind his back, looking like the perfect symbol of a dedicated sailor posing beside his captain. As they both stood in silence, Alfred smiled. He shook his head a little, still smiling, though he retained his gaze on the horizon.

"I am teaching him to swim," he said, answering the wordless question. From the corner of his eye, he could see the quartermaster stand perfectly still without the slightest flicker of emotion crossing his face. Very impressive, the captain mentally complimented.

"Is this something you record in the captain's log?" the quartermaster simply asked.

"No."

"I see."

They stood next to each other for a little while longer, and Alfred knew the crew would never hear of his night-time activities lest he spoke the words himself.

The captain let his gaze travel across the deck, and, holding the wheel stable as a wave briefly tore at the rudder, he gave a few commands of routine that had with the various processes behind running a ship to do. The quartermaster repeated them, and in a much louder voice than one would think he possessed, judging by the man's gentle nature. He strode quickly down the steps to make sure the orders were heard and executed.

Alfred followed him with his eyes, watching as the sailors did as instructed. The wind was fresh and strong in the sails, and the ship buzzed with life as always. But the quartermaster's sudden desire to talk (albeit it had been short), must have been catching – or so the captain would briefly think later, after the crew had gone to bed.

However, for now he remained on the helm. The helmsman was actually free to take over for him, but he wanted to stay there for a while. The wind against his skin, the sun in his eyes, and the feel of the ocean's raw powers under his fingers were one of the things he loved the most, and he felt good standing there. At one point, the navigator joined the young captain on the helm. They discussed their heading, where they were, and how long the rest of the voyage would take. Of course, that latter was mostly speculations, and based on the whims of the weather. This meeting was really supposed to be held in the captain's quarters, hunched over large maps, tracing lines and comparing ocean currents and routes. But as both of them carried maps in their heads, it was not much of an issue. If anything, this was only one of the least of Captain Alfred's breaches of ordinary protocol, and relatively harmless, as the navigator had already inspected the maps before climbing to the helm in the first place.

"Oh, and Captain," James said, turning as he had been about to leave. Alfred glanced at him, and he came closer again. "The crew are starting to become a little uneasy, sir."

Alfred could feel a rush go through him at the words. Had they found out? He waited, ears perked, for James to continue. When he didn't, the captain glanced hurriedly at him again and realised the sailor was politely waiting for a reply before continuing. "How so?" Alfred supplemented.

"It is the prisoner, captain." Alfred let out a small breath he didn't know he had held, and immediately regretted it, hoping the navigator hadn't noticed it. But James continued, seemingly unaware. "I don't know if the quartermaster has informed you, but he appears to have become a lot more… well, his change in behaviour is rather hard to explain, actually. I would say he has become very anxious, bordering on mentally ill, captain." The captain's brows were knitted, and James caught his eyes. "He makes a great ruckus every time he is fed and causes otherwise great commotion. Gervase says he will injure himself severely if this continues. We have tried talking to him, but it is impossible to get a coherent word out of him."

"I see," Alfred nodded slowly. His tone was grave and there were deep furrows between his brows. His thoughts had leapt back four nights, and he thumped his thumb absently against the wooden wheel. "Well," he said, reaching a temporary conclusion only, as he had no solution. "For now, just keep an eye on him. If Gervase cannot help him, I doubt the rest of us can."

The navigator nodded, saluted, and left. Alfred remained on the helm for the remnants of the day. Only as the sky dressed in red and orange hues did he pass it on to the helmsman and instruct the quartermaster to round up the crew on the main deck. The weather had been nothing to complain about all day, but the mood about the crewmembers was varied, and not in a good way.

As he looked out on the gathered men, Alfred thought it was understandable, and he felt guilty for being part of the reason and keeping secrets from them. However, for now the merman needed as much peace and quiet he could give him, so a secret it would have to remain. He gave his orders, and still none of the sailors spoke up against the rather unwise nightly arrangements.

Soon the quartermaster was stationed in the crow's nest, but not before smiling at his captain and wishing him luck. Alfred nodded his thanks, and retreated to his cabin to document the day in his log. By the time he was finished, he felt quite assured the entire ship was asleep and 'the coast clear', as it were.

He readied the longboat, folded his coat and laid it under one of the planks before returning inside. Smiling encouragingly and ignoring the small scowl the merman for some reason had formed a habit of wearing, he grabbed the merman from where he had hoisted himself up on the tank edge, and pulled him across the deck. Once in the boat, the merman tucked his tail around himself and waited as Alfred lowered the boat onto the waves. They were a little bigger that night than the former nights, but hopefully the merman would not let that faze him too much.

Alfred climbed down the rope ladder, loosened the rope, and let the boat drift gently (as gently as the waves would allow, at any rate) to the back of the ship and into the normal position. The colossal vessel towered as always before them, her soft groans mingling with the murmur and whisper of the sea. Alfred let the sounds flow into him while he put on the coat, buttoning it up to ward off the night chill. When he was done, looking toward the end of the boat and settling more comfortably, it pleased him to see he had been right; the merman had dipped his hands in the water, and sometime later he must have deemed it safe, for he lowered the end of his tail into the water as well.

Alfred hid a smile, and directed his gaze to the sky to form a prediction on the next day's weather based on the clouds covering the sky. That was when a voice broke the silence, thoughtful but conclusive.

"It's very big." The merman did not look at the captain as he spoke, but kept his gaze on the dark water sloshing around his tail to form a messy trail of crashing waves and scum. However, his words made Alfred suddenly smile. It was a friendly smile, accompanied by a small, inaudible sigh as he finally understood the full nature of the merman's fear. Or worry. Or whichever emotion was keeping him from basking in the ocean.

"Yes," he replied, "the ocean is very big."

He waited. But it appeared the merman had no further desire to speak, for nothing came. As he watched the smaller male remain motionless, sitting on the edge of the boat, it looked to him like their brief conversation was as abruptly over as it had begun. Though, however short it had been, he decided it had indeed been yet another victory; the merman had spoken entirely by his own initiative, without having first been provoked by Alfred.

Waves broke against the wooden sides of the longboat, and the captain shifted slightly for a more comfortable position. He was just about to turn his gaze to the sky and his ship, looking to see if he could perhaps spot the quartermaster in the crow's nest, but he was stopped. Despite his conclusions, words again filled the air; though this time, the voice was very low, sounding mostly like an afterthought not really intended to be spoken out loud. "It's too big."

Alfred's eyes softened. "Hardly."

With this, he was rewarded with the merman's full attention, as the smaller male turned around where he sat, looking at the captain in surprise and confusion.

"Our world consists mostly of oceans; they surround us everywhere. There is nothing to stop me from going wherever I wish. It's vast and large – freedom is what it is," Alfred said. At some point through his short speech, he had released the eye contact with the merman, his eyes wandering to the water he spoke so fondly of. There was barely anything to make a visual border between sky and sea by the horizon, only making the world surrounding them look that much wider and endless.

"There are still so many things I have yet to see, yet to discover, both on land and at sea. One petty life is hardly enough, not by a long shot, but I wish to see as much of it as I can." He pulled in a deep breath, his lungs filling with the familiar salty air, and he relished in the sensation. "Yet," and he turned his gaze to the merman, feeling so wonderfully at ease, though his smile bore a wistful tint, "I can only admire the surface."

The merman looked to him in wonder, and though he looked surprised, Alfred noticed that he also seemed thoughtful. "You must really love the ocean, to speak so beautifully of it," the being born of ocean said, and the captain could not help but chuckle.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that. But there truly is no other place on earth where I feel quite as free. If I wished it, I could go anywhere in the world, right now."

The merman's brows were slightly wrinkled upwards, but he turned to look down in the water again. He leaned closer, gently putting his hands on the boat's side as he did so. "Then maybe…." he all but whispered, frowning softly with his lips slightly parted. But his fingers soon turned white as snow as they gripped the edge, and Alfred could imagine the merman's heart rate rising with the breath coming as shallow gasps through the open mouth in cold fright.

Sighing silently, Alfred remembered something once told to him by a dear friend and tutor. He leaned a little forward, so as to come closer to the other, as well as to catch the merman's attention with his movement. He could feel his mouth go momentarily dry, and for a second the words were lost to him. But his voice and lips still worked.

"Arthur."

It was the third time he spoke the merman's name out loud. It sent a shiver up his spine, and as he kept his eyes on the merman, he believed he could see it somehow also affect him. Then again, Alfred thought grimly, he had probably not heard his name spoken since he was a new-born. The captain could feel his mood taking a sudden plummet, and hurriedly shoved the thought out of his head; he had to stay focused on the situation at hand.

"It is not wrong to fear what is unknown to you. It is only healthy, for without fear, bravery cannot exist." He sat back a little again and closed his eyes briefly, the ocean's whispers filling his ears. "Just think of what you will discover. And someday," he locked eyes with the merman, "man might join you below the waves." After a short pause he added a stray thought he didn't intend to vocalise, "and one day, we will even conquer the skies."

A breeze brushed past, played with his hair and the tips of his collar, and for a moment the captain forgot the many ridiculing smiles this notion of his normally received. He spoke on, lost in the picture painted by his mind's eye. "One day, man will fly like the birds and there will truly be no limit to where we can go." He was swiftly jerked back to reality however when he heard his own words, felt how his stomach clenched and he glanced cautiously at the merman. But the green eyed male was completely serious, looking up at the sky where Alfred's eyes must have strayed as he talked.

"Do you think so?" he wondered quietly. Alfred blinked in surprise, but finding no sarcasm in the merman, he joined him, a small smile tugging on his lips.

"Yes, I do. One day, you shall see."

* * *

><p>Toris never knew what they spoke of. Despite his curiosity, he rarely attempted watching them with the telescope, granting them their privacy and keeping to his duty of watching the distant waters for enemy ships. What the quartermaster did know, however, was that despite growing tired from the severe change to his diurnal rhythm, the captain appeared more content. When they had first brought the merman from that pub in the small harbour, the quartermaster would never have dreamed they would converse with the merman, let alone interact with him. But the captain seemed to have reached through, and if this <em>relationship<em> meant they were on good terms with the merman, he was glad. Whether to call the captain and merman's relation one of friendship, or a simple acquaintance, though, he had not quite managed to decide upon.

Toris had just climbed down from the main mast, bid Alfred a good night, and gone under deck to wake the next watch when something stopped him at the top of the stairs. A low but intense voice carried up to him, and for some reason made him pause.

At first, he could not make out the words, but as his ears adjusted, he could hear fragments of the whispered conversation.

"I am telling you," one voice hissed, "it is not wild speculation."

The quartermaster frowned, and he soundlessly crouched down on the steps to see if he could spot the hammocks and the owner of the voice. But in the dim lighting, he could only see two figures sitting upright.

Running his eyes along what he could see of the hammocks, the rest of the crew appeared to be sleeping. Only two were awake and mumbling to one another, one of them more urgently than the other. The calmer one began to say something, but the other lifted his hands in exasperation and slammed his fist on the hammock he was sitting in. It made only a muffled thump, and none of the other sailors woke.

As the upset man spoke, voice impatient and intense, Toris realised who it was.

"_Something_ is going on, and it involves that creature and the captain!"

Aaron.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: To you lazy buggers (I say that in a loving way~) who didn't read the last an. **_**Look at this:**_25 . media . tumblr tumblr_m20dd63kPg1rphf87o1_1280 . jpg

**It is seriously wonderful. I'm still over the moon with joy because of this picture, even though it's been more than 2 months since I received it. **

**Betaed by: geekisthenewawesome **

**P.S: Aren't the new features of ffnet just awesome? :D I hope you all like the 'cover image' I chose for this story. Found it on google, I don't know who made it, but it was certainly not made by me. ^^' Also, personally, I really enjoy the 'dark' feature-thingy when reading. **

**Currently I'm in the middle of preparing for my last final exam. Wish me luck. ,_, **


	10. Chapter 10

"Captain."

It had barely been a quarter of an hour since Alfred woke. He had yet to venture out of his cabin for the first time that day when there was a knock on the door and the quartermaster entered. Thankfully, at the very least, the captain was dressed, and had only moments before taken a singular document from his desk; thereby hiding the fact that he had just rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Alfred's eyebrows went skywards at the urgent tone in Toris' voice, and, putting down the sheet of paper, he granted the man his full attention. "What is the matter, quartermaster?"

Toris opened his mouth to reply, but then he stopped. Looking suddenly thoughtful, he hesitated for a moment, then appeared to make a decision. "Actually, Captain, I think you should come with me."

Now Alfred was really puzzled, but nodding, he grabbed his coat and hat and followed the sailor out on deck. Following Toris' lead, the two climbed up onto the helm, nodding a brief greeting to the helmsman on the way, and headed for the stern railing. Stopping there and resting one hand casually on the rail, Toris glanced back to the Alaskan man and the rest of the ship. Seeing this, Alfred noticed himself automatically become more watchful.

"Toris. What is going on?"

The smaller man sighed and shook his head.

"The crew is starting to become suspicious."

The captain frowned. He understood now that they were on this relatively remote part of the ship for a good reason so as not to be overheard, but he was still far from grasping the full meaning of the situation. However, he did not need to vocally prod Toris to continue; his expression was obviously enough, for Toris only stopped to pull in a short breath before he carried on.

"I overheard Aaron and James yesterday after my watch, and the word seems to have spread amongst the crew like wildfire since then." The quartermaster leaned a little closer, his voice lowering and intensifying, as though he feared someone might hear him. Alfred knew that was not possible – the only one within earshot was the helmsman, and even he might not hear every word of what they were saying through the rush of the ocean and winds.

"They fear the merman has got you in his power and that it is only a matter of time before he eats you and sinks the ship." Toris looked out onto the sea and the v-shaped trail they created in the waves, before taking the ship thoughtfully into view again. "Aaron has been worried for a while already," he said and shook his head again slightly. "Not long ago, he feared something was happening between you and the merman. At the time, both James and I brushed him off. But with your" – Toris paused, looking at Alfred – "your _change of schedule_, his worries are being taken seriously by the others and spreading fast."

Alfred grimaced at the indirect mention of how the nightly swimming lessons was viewed by the rest of the crew, but knitted his brows in a serious frown at the same time. "Aaron expressed worry earlier? What caused him to do so?" To the captain's surprise, the quartermaster smiled a little at his words.

"When you announced the tank was to be in your cabin, you referred to the merman as 'him'." Alfred must have looked properly puzzled, for Toris' smile grew more whole-hearted; reaching his eyes and giving them a soft twinkle.

"Something must have happened between the two of you," he ventured, half sounding like he was merely speculating, half sounding like he was stating a fact. "I doubt you noticed it yourself – apparently you didn't – but you, as well as the rest of us, had only spoken of the merman as an 'it' until then. Aaron is an observant young man. I doubt many others heard it, and those who did probably didn't take any particular notice of it, but Aaron did. As far as I can recall, I believe you only said 'him' once, at that time, but Aaron feared that simple change were the first signs of trouble." Toris tilted his head and chucked gently. "In a sense, he was right."

The captain let out a small puff of air and lifted his brows, though more in a wistful expression, rather than confusion. He could not remember doing what he was now accused of, but it did not matter. For a few moments, they remained in silence, appreciating the weather for what it was worth. The wind blowing briskly across their skin, and to Alfred it sounded as though the sails were downright singing as they were filled and stretched. But it did little to lighten his mood.

Toris broke the silence. "You need to speak with the crew."

Alfred sighed. "I know."

"You've been very distant lately, and that isn't helping the situation. If you disappear, the crew will fall apart." As the captain looked at the quartermaster, he suddenly realised how weary the sailor looked. He wasn't exactly feeling his best himself either, but he knew the man's words to be true. In comparison to his normal behaviour, he had hardly spoken to his crew, rarely ate together with them, and was otherwise absentminded when they came to make a report or ask for something. He realised that while he was lost in his thoughts, work, and recent nightly occupation, the quartermaster had been trying to cover his position.

"You're right. I need to get back on track, and I owe the crew an explanation. As soon as they know the merman is not someone to fear, things should go back to normal. But I need more time, only a few more days for the merman to become more at ease with the ocean…" he paused a little, "and me. It would be best to wait until he trusts me more before I introduce him officially to the rest of the crew. At the current moment in time, I think such a meeting added to all that has happened to him will be too much." He pulled in a deep breath of ocean air, and squinted a little to shield his eyes from the sun reflecting off of the wave tops. "He has been through a lot. I don't want to push him if I can avoid it."

When he looked to the quartermaster, the man was smiling. He still looked weary, but his lips were curving in that kind manner of his and it made the captain smile back. He leaned a hand on Toris' shoulder.

"So I am afraid you will have to hold down the fort for a few more days. Besides," his smile grew into a grin, "the crew would never fall apart; they have you." He knew he was putting a lot of pressure on his quartermaster and though he did not say anything, he hoped the sailor was able to detect his gratitude. By the look on Toris' face, the nod and amicable salute, he believed the quartermaster had.

"Well, Captain," Toris said as Alfred retracted his hand and leaned against the railing. "Shall I accompany you to the galley?" Captain Alfred quirked a brow and the quartermaster's eyes glinted. "You haven't eaten breakfast yet, have you?"

Alfred laughed. This man had been with him for too long.

* * *

><p>Alfred would be an ignorant fool to say he did not notice the change in his crew's behaviour, or the uneasy atmosphere spreading throughout the ship. They had of course already been in an unsure state for the past few days, due to his late mornings and other worrying behaviours, but this was something completely different; lurking, silent, aggressive and cautious.<p>

Still, he tried not to dwell on it for too long; he had to stay focused. The sooner he got results with the merman, the sooner he could get the ship and crew back on an even keel – so to speak.

So, even though it made him feel terrible, he shut out the rest of the crew and only gave the most elementary orders, leaving the rest up to the quartermaster. For two nights he carried on like this, and thought the general mood of the ship was spiralling downwards, he dared say the relationship between himself and the merman was going in the complete opposite direction.

The merman had yet to get entirely into the water, and was far from even dreaming of ever letting go of the boat, but it appeared as though he was no longer troubled by the unsteadiness of the tiny vessel. They talked more as well; not all the time, and mostly it was just Alfred more or less talking to himself, but every now and again the merman would suddenly reply to something he said. And sometimes, though it was rare, the merman would be the one initiating the conversation. He was growing curious about the sky and the stars, as he said Alfred was always looking at them when he was not talking – and when he was talking too, really – so he wanted to know more about them. The captain thus began telling the merman what stories he knew of the constellations, old myths and legends James had told him and the crew through many long nights.

Truly, if Alfred was to name one thing that did _not_ go well, he would say there was nothing –except for that _look_ that would suddenly appear in the merman's eyes. But he never said anything during those times, so the captain never asked about it. He would not exactly call that something that 'did not go well' either; it was just something he didn't know the cause of. Sometimes, he believed the merman seemed just as confused as he as to… _whatever_ it was, causing him to stare into the ocean and ignore the captain completely for a while. Sometimes Alfred was on the verge of asking what was wrong, but he caught himself every time. He could almost hear the pub keeper's voice in his head at those times, telling of how the merpeople could notice them from several miles off if they were at sea. It made him ponder if the merman, when he had his tail in the water, could detect things Alfred couldn't: fish swimming deep below, ocean currents whispering soundlessly of their long journeys. If that was so, all he could really do was wait for the merman to get used to these new aspects of his life, as he would not be of much help should the merman ask him about it.

_But_, as he thought with a small smile as he wrote his captain's logs, _other than this it is going well_. He had grown more and more at ease with the merman ever since that storm, he realised, and he believed the feeling was mutual. At least, he chose to hope so, as all the signs he had picked up were indeed hinting in that direction. The only thing that stuck a thorn in his side when dipping his quill in ink was the situation with his crew.

* * *

><p>"Quartermaster!"<p>

The man was with him in the matter of seconds, standing straight and saluting. Captain Alfred's voice had been loud as he called for him, as well as precise and firm; the perfect voice of an authoritative captain.

"Find the navigator and come to my quarters."

"Sir!"

The order had been short and concise and the quartermaster saluted again and hurried away with the end of his coat flapping in his wake. Overhead dark clouds were obscuring the sky; a heavy humidity lay in the air with that distinct sense and smell of oncoming thunder. The captain surveyed the deck briefly; the men running back and forth, the many ropes being adjusted to keep up with the weather, the cannons secured to the bulwark, the grim expression on every face.

He turned and entered his cabin, closing the door and crossing the floor in silence. He stopped by the grand, arced window, lost in thought as he stared sightlessly out of it.

Precisely two minutes later there was a short knock on the door, and, upon the captain's word, it opened. The quartermaster and the navigator took a few steps inside before halting side by side, saluting and waiting for their captain to take it from there.

"I will cut straight to the chase," Alfred said, before turning from the window to eye them with a serious expression. "What is happening aboard my ship?" The two did not even glance at each other; the navigator spoke up.

"With all due respect Captain, the changes to your behaviour over the past week is unnerving the crew."

Alfred nodded. "Of that I am aware, and I can tell you I intend to make up for that unfortunate turn of events as soon as possible. However, over the last two days the situation on board appears to me to have worsened too quickly for me to be the only cause." He kept his eyes on them, not accusingly, but expectant of an answer. A ship with a crew in the state of which theirs was at the moment was vulnerable, both to attacks from enemy ships as well as storms. The two sailors looked grave, and again it was the navigator who spoke.

"The state of the prisoner is worsening by the second. We hear him scream at night, right through the door. He has scratched his fingers bloody on the floor, as though he is trying to dig his way out, and the only two sensible things we hear from him is 'the whispers' and 'doomed'. Taking into consideration…" And for the first time he hesitated. Alfred knew the navigator was all too aware that the merman was only a few feet to the left. But he only paused for a second; keeping his stare collected and straightforward, he continued. "Taking into consideration the _cargo_ you keep in your cabin" – _and the way you have been behaving_, Alfred knew the sailor added in his mind – "it is enough to make the bravest man uneasy. They believe it is only a matter of time before we are pulled down into the abyss, Captain."

For a long moment, all three were silent. Alfred mulled this new bit of information over in his mind, understanding how this was affecting his crew. Sighing, he lost a bit of his formal pose and rubbed his face wearily. Through his fingers he glanced briefly at the tank, and from within he could see the merman watching them. The captain had no doubt he was listening, but no expression slipped onto the merman's face, and he lay perfectly still.

"First and foremost, navigator James, I can assure you that we will not be shipwrecked. And _should_ it happen, it will not be by the hand of the merman. There is nothing wrong with me, and the merman is not controlling me in any way, even though I understand you may think that way. At the current moment in time I cannot give you any proof, so you will just have to take my word for it.

"When it comes to the prisoner, if Gervase cannot find a solution" – Alfred looked to James, who shook his head – "then there is nothing to be done for him. But we cannot have the crew being uneasy for no reason," the captain said with a sense of finality, walking around his grand desk. "Round up the men. I will speak to them, and hopefully get some sense into them," his hands went to his hat, straightening it as he headed for the door. However, he never got far, for the quartermaster stopped him,

"There is no need, Captain."

Alfred turned to them with a frown.

"I'll take care of it," the quartermaster said with a curt nod. Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but the quartermaster cut him off. "With all due respect, Captain, I agree that the crew needs to hear from you, you know that. However, I don't think they need to hear from a man who looks half-dead with fatigue. That would really only add to their stress and suspicion, and we really do not need that right now. Do you not agree?" Toris' voice had a firm and even tone to it, as though giving a report, but his eyes shone kindly. "Besides, I don't believe the weather will get worse than a mild downpour with distant thunder. Nothing we can't handle without you."

Alfred clamped his mouth shut. Most other captains or commanders would probably have been infuriated by being contradicted so bluntly. But most captains didn't normally have a life-long friendship with their quartermaster, either.

Gritting his teeth a little and listening to the weather outside, he knew the quartermaster was right – on all accounts. Were he to prove wrong the crews' suspicion of the merman being a cold hearted killing machine, he had better turn up looking healthy. Which meant well-rested. The waves were a bit rougher than normal, but nothing worth mentioning for experienced sailors.

Captain Alfred sighed heavily; he knew when he was beaten. "Very well," he said. "But don't overexert yourself." He looked the quartermaster square in the eye. _You are just as exhausted as I_.

Toris smiled, and he and the navigator saluted. "I won't, Captain."

"Sleep well, Captain," the navigator added, and the two sailors exited the cabin after receiving a final nod, "Thank you" and "You are dismissed".

As the door shut behind them, Alfred sighed again and shook his head. He went back to his desk, and, sitting down in the chair, he could hear the rain just starting to drum against his window. He anticipated it would be coming down hard in a short while. He reached for his quill and leather-bound logbook.

"_And if we do sink, it will not be by the merman's hands_," a voice spoke behind him.

Alfred did not turn. He uncapped his inkbottle and opened the book. "That is what I said, yes," he said with great ease. He could feel a smile tingle in the corners of his lips, but suppressed it. Noting the day's date in the right-hand corner of a fresh page, he had already written down the beginning of the day's events by the time he got a reply.

"You are all too sure of yourself, human." It was hardly spoken as anything more than a mutter, and the tone made Alfred's smile break out completely despite his efforts to hide it. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the merman submerged in the water, not looking at him; a thoughtful frown on his face. His cheeks were dusted a soft red by a gentle flush.

Alfred returned his attention to the log, and wrote about the prisoner's worsening state and the nervous crew. He paused to look at his window, the sheen of the rear-end lanterns depicted like two glowing orbs with faded edges. The rain made intricate patterns on the thick glass. Looking through the latest writings in the log, he counted that today would have been the seventh night of swimming. _And on the seventh day, he rested_, he couldn't help but think with slight humour as he in brief detail described the weather as well.

When he was done, the ink writing dried and the book closed, he proceeded to take the quartermaster's words to heart and went to bed.

Lying in the soft covers, he let the ship's rocking settle in his body, imagining he was a part of her. In his mind he pictured himself becoming a floorboard, dark and carefully shaped to fit its task. The steps of sailors resonated through him, accompanied by voices yelling incoherent words. A light briefly lit up the cabin, like a red drape across his closed eyelids. Several counts later, deep thunder rumbled in the distance.

The floorboard captain's thoughts sunk through the ship, following veins in the wood and the thick bolts keeping it together, until he reached the brig. He wondered if the prisoner was screaming now, frightened by the weather, interpreting it as something more than Mother Nature showcasing some of her powers. _"I don't have the need to go anywhere that would require a boat, so I feel quite safe." _That was what he had said, back at the time he was still secure in his pub.

Had anyone been watching from the outside, they would see a frown appear on the captain's face, but said man didn't notice this himself. He had forgotten about the floorboard captain, once again thinking about the matter with the prisoner. He was sunk deep in thought, picturing the pub keeper so vividly on the inside of his eyelids. Alfred could understand the man's mental sufferings, but there was no real ground for them. Was there?

The pub keeper had said the merpeople could sense things in the water. Alfred was willing to believe that meant the merfolk knew this ship existed and where it was; however, as they themselves had not been in direct contact with the water, he could only think that the merpeople could not possibly know who was onboard. And if they, against all odds, did, then would they not have taken their revenge a long time ago?

Alfred opened his eyes. Above him, his dark wooden ceiling stared back.

What were the chances that the merman had family searching for him after all these years? If they had looked for him at all. He felt a twinge of pity and guilt in his chest for letting those thoughts enter his head. He tried to clear his mind and closed his eyes again to attempt sleeping, but after a few minutes it was clear he would not succeed; he was suddenly all too awake. Weary, yes, but awake.

So Alfred sat up, lit the lantern next to his bed and reached for one of the books he had purchased in Portsmouth. He had completely forgotten about them, as his days – and nights – had become even more occupied with the merman in every possible way than they had already been. Now that he suddenly had some spare time, he thought he might as well read. Maybe it would make him sufficiently tired so he might fall asleep.

Paging through the book to find where he had stopped last time, his gaze wandered aimlessly for a moment and came to rest on the tank. There they stayed. He stared, forgetting the book entirely.

He must have sat like that, staring in surprise for several minutes before he jerked back to reality. The merman, who always met him with shimmering green eyes whenever the captain woke or entered the cabin, was sleeping. At the very least, that was certainly what it looked like. The merman was lying on his side, as curled up as the walls of the tank would allow him, eyes closed. He was floating a little above the bottom of the tank; only touching it when the ship's rocking caused him to.

Alfred's lantern threw flickering rays of warm light across the floor. They cut through the soft darkness, just reaching the tank and reflecting like fleeting stars off the glass. A few, though, managed to pierce through and played in the shifting water on the inside. They cast a bewitching, inconstant trail along the merman's tail, and still he was sleeping, even as the light danced across his face, framing and enhancing it.

Alfred had never seen him sleep. He had not doubted that the merman slept, but the tailed man always managed to wake before anyone could walk up on him.

With the book in hand, his index finger between the pages, Alfred gently shoved his covers aside and swung his legs out of bed. His naked feet made small sounds of release with each step he took, as his skin clung lightly to the wooden floorboards. For a brief moment Alfred worried the merman would wake, but apparently it was not enough to stir him.

The young captain stopped in front of the tank and looked at the water billowing lightly and lapping against the walls, a little sometimes spilling over. He rested his free hand on the wooden edge, fiddled idly with it and dragged his hand along the surface made straight and smooth by his carpenters. Reaching one corner, he crouched down and looked in on the merman. Their faces were so close, and, leaning nearer, Alfred could almost count the merman's eyelashes. They were long, black at the base but faded into an almost transparent brown toward the tip. His face was clean and even with sleep, his sandy brown hair billowing dully around his head, and when he repositioned himself a little Alfred could see the gills spreading slightly and closing in a peaceful rhythm.

It made Alfred smile. He sat right in front of the merman's face, looking at it thoughtfully. "So now I'm finally trustworthy enough for you to lower your guard a little?" he asked, and remained crouched like that for a while, half expecting the merman to wake and answer. But nothing happened; the merman remained peacefully motionless, only rocking gently in time with the ship. With a fond, lopsided smile Alfred turned and sat down with his back leaning against the glass. Once settled, he flopped open the book and discovered he had stopped at the wrong page. He had not brought the lantern over with him either and the flickering light was just barely enough to read, but he did not mind either thing.

Outside the rain drummed heavily against his windows and the ocean toyed with the ship while thunder rolled overhead, yet Alfred felt so wonderfully at peace and comfortable where he sat.

"Is it really that interesting?" A few drops of water hit the top of the captain's head, though he didn't start, didn't even flinch. He tipped his head back and for some reason did not feel at all surprised to see green eyes framed by wet hair shine mistily down on him in the dim light. Alfred hid his smile and returned his gaze to the book.

"Yes, quite," he said and turned a page. A thought struck him. "Do you know how to read?" His question was met by a pause.

"A little," the merman admitted at last. "But not much. Only what I could find out on my own." Alfred nodded, it made sense. He put down the book on the floor, careful so the pages would not shift from where he had stopped, and went to fetch his lantern. Upon returning, he hitched the book back up with two fingers and on a whim he sat down on the edge of the short end side of the tank. The merman who had previously been leaning over the edge right next to the corner, pulled away and Alfred could see the merman eye him and the lantern with caution.

"Come." Alfred beckoned him closer with a movement of his head. He perched himself on the ledge, balanced the book on his thigh and held the lantern with his free hand. "Show me what you know." He titled the book in the merman's direction, pointing to the first word in the first paragraph.

If anything, the merman looked baffled, and glanced up at the captain as though he wasn't sure whether he was serious or not. But Alfred just nodded gently and wiggled his fingers slightly in an encouraging gesture to make him to come closer. "Come, try to read this word."

The merman frowned, but the captain was delighted to see the green eyes hesitantly focus on the page. Then the merman opened his mouth and soundlessly tried to shape his lips, but soon closed his mouth again. He repeated this course of actions a few times, before he in a very low, unsteady voice said, "Mer-r-mermaid, -s."

Alfred beamed as the merman glanced up at him again. "Very good," he praised, and though the frown remained, he saw the merman come a little closer and focus more intently on the page when Alfred pointed to the next word.

"E- are," Alfred moved his finger and the merman drifted even nearer. "At-" the merman pulled in a small, sharp breath and the frown deepened. "Attrest-"

"Attracted," the captain assisted, and, pulling his finger under the rest of the line he slowly read it to the merman: "To handsome men and will go to great lengths to make them their husbands."

The merman was right next to him now, only centimetres away from touching. He was staring at the page, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, and Alfred slowly read on, underlining every word with his finger. All the while he kept watching the merman carefully from the corner of his eye; the tailed man appeared to suck in every letter and pronunciation.

"Be it a sailor or landsman, the mermaids will lure the man to them with enchanting song," Alfred read. "They are said to prefer humans to males of their own species, as mermen are green of skin and gruesome creatures to look at with green teeth…" The captain's voice drifted off. A baffled pin-dropping silence descended between the two. Slowly Alfred glanced to the right and saw the merman had jerked back, a fierce blush across his cheeks. "'Green and gruesome'?" Alfred repeated with eyebrows raised quizzically at the merman. Then he burst out laughing.

"Whichever incompetent human wrote that book clearly never laid his eyes on a merman himself," the merman huffed indignantly.

It was too tempting, as he glanced at the offended merman; the captain really couldn't help himself as, with a glint in his eye, he said, "Unless you are hiding something from me? For all I know, this" – and he nodded to the merman in general – "could all be an illusion you have created." The flashing glare sent his way would have been enough to set the toughest of men's neck hairs on end. However, the whole situation was too harmless for Alfred to be affected at the moment, and he already had his hands full trying to stifle his laugh.

"I can assure you," the merman grumbled. "I have always looked like this, and I always will!" His face scrunched up with distaste and he added sourly, "and my teeth will certainly never turn green. So wipe that grin off your face, human."

Alfred shook his head, laughter still lingering in his throat. "My apologies, my apologies." He lifted the hand with the lantern in a motion of surrender. "I meant no offense. And my name is 'Alfred', you should try saying it sometime." The merman huffed, and, still sniggering slightly, the captain returned to his book. The merman remained where he was, his interest in reading clearly gone.

_Another reason for a mermaid to take a human man as her husband is that merfolk do __not have souls of their own. Only by wedding a human or producing a child with __humans can they obtain an immortal soul. Unfortunately, these unions usually end in __great tragedy for one or both of the pair. __However, due to the mermaids' natural murderous nature, it is unknown whether __killing her human mate is required to obtain the soul, or if she kills him just for __pleasure of the action itself. _

Captain Alfred paused. His eyes rested on the page and the laughter from before had completely drained away. He had to pull himself back to reality with effort, and clearing his throat, he turned his back to the merman.

"I'm sure you're right. Whoever wrote this probably had no knowledge of your kind." He was balancing on the wooden edge, having shifted so the edge was under the middle of his thighs. This meant his feet were not touching the floor, and he leaned forwards to put both book and lantern down on the floor. When he straightened, he twisted his upper body to look back at the merman, swinging his right hand around to lean against the edge of the tank's back wall.

But because of the relocation of the lantern, thus having the light shining from below which resulted in dimmer lighting, Alfred somehow miscalculated the distance and his hand slipped on the edge. He had already been about to shift his weight, and because of the sudden loss of support, he took over-weight, lost his balance and fell forwards.

Water hit him, stung his eyes and rushed into his mouth and nose and just before his head went completely under the surface, he could hear the tell-tale sound of water cascading down the sides of the tank and onto the floor. For a moment he was in complete disarray; his sense of up and down was completely gone, there was a sharp pain in his left shoulder and his vision was nothing but blurry dark shades. He fumbled, tried to find support with his hands and knees, but they hit something protruding from the tank bottom and slipped. His mind raced, but his thoughts were in utter chaos, tumbling about in his head and unable of providing him with anything coherent.

Somehow he must have managed to heave his torso backwards, and when his hand hit something wooden and hard his head finally broke the surface. He gasped in large breaths of air; his body tried to get rid of all the water he had taken in. For a couple of minutes he was a mess, trying to breathe air and spluttering water at the same time, rubbing his eyes from the stinging salt water.

Finally, as his heart rate eased and his eyes began functioning again, he regained his bearings. He was on his knees with tepid water sloshing against his chest; the hard wooden object that had saved him was the tank edge above the glass, the very same object he suspected had caused the pain in his shoulder as he had probably hit it in his fall. And in front of him, water dripping from his hair and eyes wide, was the merman.

Suddenly, everything was very quiet to Alfred. He froze. His knees were on either side of the merman's tail and he realised that that was most likely what his hands and knees had slipped on. The merman had his back pressed against the opposite short side of the tank from the one the captain had been sitting on, they were less than a metre apart, and Alfred was suddenly very aware that he was _in_ the merman's tank.

Neither said anything for what felt like hours.

When Alfred's voice finally did return to him, the only thing he managed to croak was "I'm sorry." The merman was still staring at him, but now blinked slowly in reaction to his words. "I…" Alfred's gaze quickly swept down the merman's body before glancing back to his face. "I hope I didn't hurt you." Still looking a little shocked, the merman shook his head, though Alfred did not miss the small wince briefly crossing his face as he moved his tail a little. He must have hit him quite hard, despite the water bracing his fall. "I'm really sorry," Alfred repeated. "It was an accident." At a loss for what to do, his gaze roamed the merman again, his own body not moving from its kneeling position. One part of his brain was telling him that the sensible thing to do at the current moment would be to get out of the tank without delay, but he stayed where he was. He followed what he could make out of the tail through the rippling water surface to his knees, and twisted a little to see it continue behind him and fan out into the broad fin.

"May I?" he said suddenly, and when he glanced back he saw the mermaid's surprised expression, but he received a nod. The captain was already in a far too strange situation, that the _boundaries _man would normally have to keep from doing or requesting even stranger things were to some extent eliminated. Therefore, he slowly shifted in the water, moving backwards and settling against the other short side of the tank. The merman repositioned himself a little as well, so the tail fin spread out across the captain's lap. Hesitating, but urged on by curiosity and the realisation that he had really wanted to do this for a long time, he reached out and gently let his fingers slide across the surface. It had a near feather-like touch to it, fragile; yet strong, he discovered, as he reached the end rim and gingerly rubbed the texture between thumb and index finger. It felt sturdy enough to provide the merman good momentum and to withstand heavy water resistance when going at high speed. Yet it faded from green to translucent and to the eye looked like it would tear if the slightest of pressure was added.

He toyed with the fin for a little while, feeling the edges, running his fingers along it, marvelling at its sheer existence. His hands reached the base of the fin and his fingers graced the first scales taking form there. He glanced up at the merman's face again. The expression of surprise still lingered slightly, and Alfred could not exactly blame him as his request had been rather… out of the blue. But at the same time, as the lantern behind him sent inconstant dancing light across the water and made the merman's green eyes shimmer so surreally, he could not help but feel like he could somehow see a knowing glint deep in them as well.

The water remained inconstant due to the weather outside and his movements, but the captain could still see how the scales glittered in the flickering light and let his hand run along them. He got out of his sitting position and walked on his knees again, letting his hand wander up the merman's tail, feeling its streamlined shape and the slick texture of it. The sensation reminded him of another incident, when he had been doing much the same; that time after the storm when the merman had occupied his bed. But he felt he was more in control now, aware of exactly what he was doing, choosing to do it by his own will and he wondered if that was the difference between when a merman or -maid enticed humans intentionally or not.

His fingers hit smooth, firm skin. Alfred looked up to discover he was right in front of the merman. With his knees on either side of the merman's hip, the captain was basically straddling his lap. He looked up at the merman's face and into his eyes. Still the emerald eyed man remained silent, watching, and to Alfred it felt as though he was waiting to see what the captain would do, while he at the same time was two steps ahead, knowing. Alfred pushed the notion from his mind and reached up to gingerly brush his fingers across the skin under the merman's shimmering, gorgeous green eye. He slid them along the merman's cheekbone and down the cheek, paused, and then with his thumb traced the line of the merman's upper lip. He stopped at the corner of his mouth, adding some pressure so the lips stretched slightly and parted, revealing corner teeth sharper and bigger than a human's. The teeth on either side were likewise, though smaller than the canine tooth. Designed to cut through flesh and kill, Alfred's eyes rested on them while the merman still took no action.

The captain moved his fingers again, following the merman's jaw line up to the ear, and brushed away moist hair. His fingers went behind his ear and followed the curve leading to under the jaw. There they stopped, but his eyes ventured on and in the sparse light they fell on the gills.

At this, the merman showed the first sign of other emotions as his eyes flickered briefly with unease, but nonetheless, he sat otherwise unmoving, observing the young captain. Alfred could remember being told once that a shark would drown if one grabbed it by the tail and pulled backwards. He supposed that if a mermaid or merman had a weak spot, the gills would be it. Leaning closer, he surveyed the merman's skin, which shone so enchantingly in the dim, flickering light. The horizontal slits had a thin, softly coloured red rim and as they spread and closed slightly he could see their darker red insides. But as he was so close now, his eyes could also just make out a thin, white line running vertically down the merman's neck and cleanly across the three gills. It was barely visible in the sparse lighting, but it was there: a scar.

Alfred's hand slid slowly down from the merman's jaw, to brush past his neck and Alfred could feel how the merman tensed. He must have been long since swept away by the situation and the atmosphere, for as he glanced up at the merman's face, he did not give it a second thought or hesitate as he whispered softly, "It's all right," and pressed a gentle kiss to the merman's skin and scar.

Just then, the doors burst open.

"Captain!"

Alfred stiffened to lock eyes with a very distressed looking quartermaster. Upon sight, both of the men immediately froze. Alfred's stomach turned ice cold and a prickling sensation spread through his body as his mind suddenly became crystal clear and realised just how beyond all sense and reason the whole situation was.

In those split seconds that neither of them moved, Alfred could see a disarray of feelings rush in Toris' eyes, the most prominent being shock and confusion. But then he must have regained control of himself, and shooting a glance over his shoulder, he said with great urgency,

"Captain, you must come with me, quick."

As though released from a spell, or electrocuted, Alfred broke out of his frozen state in the tank. Grateful for the lack of questions, he quickly climbed out. But as he looked at the quartermaster and saw how truly unsettled he was, his current situation suddenly seemed like a petty trifle.

"What has happened?" he asked quickly, already going through the possibilities in his head and the actions to take thereof, as he followed the quartermaster outside. His clothes were dripping wet, but he hardly paid it any attention.

"The prisoner is dead."

Alfred felt his eyes widen, and his foot almost slipped on the soaked deck in a moment of inattention. He swiftly recomposed.

"Did he kill himself?"

"I don't think so, Captain," Toris glanced at Alfred and held open the door leading below deck for him. "The prisoner has been ripped to pieces."

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><p><strong>AN: First off, this chapter has not been betaed, as my beta is currently extremely busy with final exams. This chapter has been done since I posted chapter 9, and since I'm a rather impatient person, I decided I'd just post it. X) I'm eager to know what you think. :D <strong>

_**Also**_**, look at this: **Lordofpaperclips . deviantart . (c) (o) (m) / gallery/?catpath=scraps#/d53et7e

**Isn't it awesome?! xD GrouchyMcEyebrows made this piece of brilliant fanart to me, and I just **_**love it**_**! Haha, it's so funny and cute. X) **

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><p><strong>EDIT 8.20.12 <strong>

**Betaed by geekisthenewawesome**


	11. Chapter 11

Somewhere far away, just barely audible, thunder rumbled. Or it could have been waves breaking against the ship's side, or maybe the heavy, slow groans of the ship itself. When it came down to it, it was hard to tell.

It was pitch black all around, but that was no sure proof of night – the brig was below the water surface, thus the light of day never reached it. In the beginning, he had tried to keep up with the days, but he had given up. Or fallen out of the habit. Whichever it was, he could not hope to recount the days now even if he tried. Often, the sailors would leave a lantern with him, to ward off some of the dark and keep him from completely losing his mind. But when the weather picked up, they refrained from doing so.

It was like sitting in a void. He could not see his hand before him – even if he held it so close it almost touched his nose. But in that present moment he wasn't keeping his hand up to his face; he was clutching the three legged stool tightly to his middle, much like a child would a beloved teddy bear. When it was dark like this, it was easy to imagine the feel of the rough floor beneath him disappearing, and the bars pressing against his back likewise. With a twist of his mind that was only half voluntary, his senses felt all numb: erasing the touch of wood and iron, leaving him in an empty space of _nothing_.

Then they came, through the water and the waves, the bolts and the woodwork, slithering on the air like invisible snakes: whispering voices. They came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time – close, as though spoken right into his ear, yet far away.

The worn-down pub keeper froze. He, who had been trembling moments before, barely dared breathe now. It felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over him; his toes, fingers, limbs and head were numb – though in an entirely different manner than earlier. Only his heart sped away, completely ignoring the way the rest of his body was keeping entirely still.

And then, right in front of him, where before had been black nothingness, appeared two glowing orbs. They were eyes. Two piercing green eyes, shining so huskily that the edges seemed to blend and fade out into the darkness around and rendered the pub keeper unable to determine exactly where one thing ended and the other began.

"Hello."

The voice that spoke was as soft as silk. It had a hint of an accent to it as well, but the prisoner's brain was far beyond the point where it could process such impressions anymore.

"A pleasure ta finally meet ye face ta face," the soft, _slithering_, voice continued. The prisoner's mouth fell open without his consent as his stare remained fixed on the orbs – he could not look away, even though he desperately wanted to. The eyes looking back at him were like precious, exquisite gems, beautiful yet terrible to gaze upon.

"Barry ta see ye return tha sentiment." The outline of a pale face slowly began to take form around the eyes. "We wanted ta thank ye personally fer lookin' after me wee broth all these years." As the voice spoke, the pub keeper saw pairs upon pairs of eyes materialize out of thin air. A small croak escaped his throat before he could prevent it, and in front of him the pale face split into a toothy, wicked grin.

"We wanted ta return th' gesture," the pale face said then, voice if possible turning even softer. A neck and shoulders became gradually visible, and from across them the pub keeper witnessed the other eyes gaining features of their own as well. Lines and dull colours came into existence, and all the while, they drew slowly closer. It had been so slow in the beginning that the pub keeper had not noticed, but now it was becoming evident. As they mercilessly closed in, the numb sensation of dead cold fright crawled up from the pit of his stomach and clenched his lungs and chest while his heart beat desperately. "But ye see, these few days were all we could manage." Curved, sharp canine teeth glinted in light that did not exist.

"We've lost oor patience now."

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><p>A near-inhuman cry jolted Alfred straight up. Not a second later it was echoed by another scream before a cacophony of noises exploded outside his door; muffled outbursts, running steps, incoherent words, and a weird sensation that the entire ship was trembling. As he stumbled out of bed, sight seemed to fail him for a split second and he stumbled drunkenly, fumbling blindly before him. His head felt impossibly heavy, so much it was hard to keep it upright by the muscles in his neck alone, and his senses felt numb. Trying to pinpoint the direction of the door, all memory and recognition of where he was left him for an instant.<p>

Outside his cabin everything suddenly went very quiet, as quickly as the noise had begun, though the thick tension in the air remained. Just as he was a few feet away from the door, it burst open. A sailor, his eyes wide and wild with sweat running in a single drop down his temple and chin, stood there. With the abrupt rush of chill, salty air, Alfred was yanked out of his disoriented state.

"Captain." The sailor's voice sounded choked. "We-" He struggled to speak. "We are surrounded."

As soon as his sluggish mind processed the words, the last bit of haze vanished from his head and Captain Alfred's mind immediately raced. He was suddenly wide awake and alert – even though a feeling of having forgotten something, something just outside his reach, haunted the back of his mind. He pushed it away, his brow furrowing in a grave expression.

"By whom?" Regardless of it being pirates or the Spanish – or anyone else for that matter – his ship did not carry enough men to fend off an enemy that was in such numbers they could have his ship surrounded – though, if that was indeed the case, that ruled out pirates as they normally operated with lone, smaller ships. Regardless, the time it would take them to prepare the cannons was-

"Not 'whom', sir, 'what'."

Alfred was ripped out of his speeding train of thoughts. The sailor had now turned, and Alfred followed him outside and across the deck with quick steps, grabbing his long coat on the way. But he could see no ships. The sailor stopped several feet from the bulwark and pointed to something across from it. Alfred followed the man's finger.

Faces. Dancing in the waves were solemn faces, adorned with pitch black, endless wells for eyes.

The sight resonated through Alfred's head; it almost had a bodily impact on him. For a split second he was hit by a strong sense of déjà-vu, then pictures flashed before his eyes, memories rushing by too fast to grasp. One face in particular stood out, a face with an unnerving resemblance to the ones staring up from the ocean surface. Then, like moisture being wiped off a pair of glasses, he suddenly came to remember what his sleep drugged brain had momentarily forgotten. It played out before his inner eye, clear in detail, making his brow furrow in deep concentration as he reviewed what had happened earlier that night.

_Toris had not been over-exaggerating, but only after the first commotion had settled down and Alfred had managed to get some order into the ranks, the work of cleaning up having been executed with efficiency, that he stopped to actually think it over. It was only when the men had finished gathering the many bits and pieces of the deceased human that he retreated a little out of sight, so he wouldn't be seen carding a hand through his hair and rubbing his face__in a tired fashion. _

_There had been a lot of blood. The chunks of deep red flesh scattered in the cell had been so void of all human resemblance that they could just as well have come from any kind of animal. The pieces of cloth strewn around however, begged to differ. When inspecting the scene more thoroughly, they were also able to locate tell-tale evidence such as fingers and other unmistakable human parts. When he had first entered the brig, Captain Alfred had stepped on a lone eyeball the unsteady light of the lanterns had failed to illuminate. Strands of thin muscles and tendrils were still attached to it, but it was not completely crushed under Alfred's foot. Instead, it gave way slightly before skidding to one side under his sole. Sturdier than one would think, eyeballs. _

_All in all, it was a gory sight. He did not blame the bleak and few green-hued faces among his crew. They had seen a lot, but normally the corpses were whole or one part had been cleanly cut off – a head or arm or leg. This was something else entirely. Alfred didn't exactly appreciate the view either, but that was not what had him retreat from sight: what now added to his list of concerns, and only made his general lack of sleep weigh down even heavier on his shoulders, was the fact that he had a murderer among his crew. He knew this notion went through every head aboard as well in these early morning hours as they cleaned up and regained order. By the victim's state, it was not just any murderer either. And all the while the metallic, thick stench of blood hung heavy in the air. _

_As they finished up, Alfred gathered the men. He didn't mention the fact of the murderer, choosing to bring this up later when everyone had calmed down properly. Even though it was on everyone's mind, it was better to leave it unvoiced for now. Instead, he instructed for the pieces of meat, which once had been the pub keeper, to be thrown overboard. They could have salted it so it would last to bring before the court back at home, but he saw no real purpose in doing that. The man was dead, and thus he was of no more use. _

_Alfred then ordered everyone back to their original posts, sleeping and guarding, respectively. He knew that only few, if not none, of the men would have peace to sleep. Perhaps they might as well have sailed through the night, as they had the time when the merman had attacked Adrian. But it didn't matter. He had given an order and though hesitantly, it was carried out. All the sailors had been in his crew for a while, so whoever killed the prisoner had probably had a personal score to settle with the man, meaning the rest of the crewmembers' lives were not in danger. Or so one could hope. _

_Alfred retreated to his cabin and immediately felt the merman's eyes on him when he entered. A dully uncomfortable feeling rose up his back in regard of their earlier situation, but he forced himself to meet the merman's gaze and speak. As he did, the sensation evaporated. _

"_It was the pub keeper," he said. No reaction. "He was-" He hesitated. "Killed." _

_Was that a slight wince passing across the merman's face? A twitch in the corner of his mouth? A blackly humoured glint in his eye? Truth be told, it was hard to tell and it could just as well have been all of them or none. As Alfred looked at him, he could not detect the slightest hint of recognition in the merman's eyes. _

_Captain Alfred sat down in his chair and opened the logbook, dipped his quill in ink and went about writing of the events in the brig – his thoughts never leaving the merman in the tank. _

_Had it been him, he believed he would have given some sort of triumphant response – and if not triumph, then grim with a delight of some kind. But, as he continued absently writing and mulling it over, he realised that no, he wouldn't have. This man had held the merman captive for who knew how many years and decades. The merman had been subject to many different ill treatments and had little, if any, memory of anything else. A shallow reaction such as the one Alfred had first imagined would just have been foolhardy and naïve. The situation had been too deep and grave. _

_Closing the book, capping the ink and getting up, Alfred went to bed and did not sleep. It was not as though he had expected anything else. He lay on his back, fingers interwoven with one another as he stared up at the wooden ceiling. _

_At some point as he was deep in thought, his gaze had wandered. It stopped to rest somewhere, and for the longest while he took no notice of what it was. However, what he had been gazing upon had not moved either, which could probably the reason for that – though in this case, it was not a matter of what he had been looking at, but rather whom: green eyes flickered slightly, making the dull light in them shift. That was what stirred Alfred's awareness. _

_He could feel his pupils widen and then tighten as he focused on this new addition to the air of his cabin –__for that was just it, it was two green eyes seemingly floating in mid-air. As he stared at them, they narrow lightly in a seemingly smiling fashion, apparently humoured by being discovered. Then a pale face formed around the eyes, shoulders and a torso following. Then again, as Alfred watched, he was not sure if the body that now came into view was really appearing out of thin air or had been there all along without him noticing. Then a voice came, soft as velvet silk, yet strangely familiar. _

"_Hello, Captain." _

_Alfred did not move a muscle. A leisurely smile spread on the stranger's face. _

"_I borrowed some o' yer clothes," he said, his voice at complete ease. He sounded like one who knew he was in control and had the situation playing in his palm. "I hope ye dinnae mind." _

_Alfred just nodded courteously at this, as a 'you are welcome'. Then, as he kept looking at the stranger, displaying all possible calm as he did, something suddenly clicked in his head. Like pieces of a puzzle. Everything seemed to just fit, so when he opened his mouth and spoke he did not feel the least bit unsure. _

"_You are the book store owner," he stated, though his general displayed mood did not change; he remained calm. The stranger's eyes glinted. _

"_Correct." _

"_You are a merman." _

"_I am." _

"_And you killed the prisoner." Alfred said. He did not act the least bit surprised. That was, if truth be told, because he did not feel surprised. If anything, he was surprised at his complete lack thereof. Somehow, it was now just so obvious, what he had stated, that he almost could not understand how he had not understood so sooner. Honestly, he should have realised the moment he set foot in the worn down bookstore in Portsmouth. _

_The stranger's smile widened, making his sharp canine teeth come into view. They glinted dimly in the same light caught in the stranger's eyes, a light Alfred could not quite determine the source of, as the stranger had his back to the window and thus the only light source of the cabin. _

_However, even as the stranger was smiling, Alfred felt as though the temperature dropped, for the smile (regardless of how malicious it was, it was still a smile) did not reach the stranger's eyes. Those emerald orbs seemed to lose some of their strange sheen, sinking into shadow, and, as Alfred held his gaze, he believed he could see old, bottomless fury lurking in their depths. _

_The captain did not say anything more, and neither did the stranger for a while. _

_Even though he had been the one to point them out, Alfred needed some time to catch up with the revelations he had just uncovered. With a sense of indifference, he absentmindedly noted to himself that his assumptions had been wrong and that merpeople apparently knew perfectly well who was aboard the different ships out at sea. The reason for why the stranger had waited so long, and his general relation to his merman, however, Alfred could not fathom. _

"_Did ye enjoy th' books?" the stranger suddenly said, breaking the silence with his question. He nodded to the nightstand and Alfred glanced in that direction even though he already knew perfectly well what books lay there. Looking back to the stranger, Alfred took a few moments to answer. When he eventually did, his voice held a certain tone of careful consideration for his wording._

"_They were… enlightening." _

_The stranger must have caught on, for he grinned and snorted a laugh. "Aye, these humans have quite th' imagination at times, eh?" _

"_Quite," Alfred said in the same tone as before, his face taking on a grimace of mild distaste. _

"_Ye should be aware, however," the stranger continued. His voice and expression had fallen suddenly serious again. He looked Alfred deep in the eye, and a sensation of being actually physically grabbed prickled through the captain's body._

"_We have yet ta decide whit ta do wit' ye." _

_Alfred did not answer. This did not appear to faze the stranger, who took a fleeting step forwards and leaned on the bedpost at the foot end. "Play yer cards right, Cap'n, an' we might nae kill ye." _

"Captain?" The stressed sailor's eyes flickered, and he seemed to become even more scared at Alfred's complete lack of shock, surprise, worry or fright – or whichever reaction would be most suitable for a captain in this situation.

"Calm down." Alfred wearily pulled a hand through his hair, speaking with a heavy sigh. The sailor froze. "Do not take any action against the merpeople, hostile or otherwise, and they will do us no harm." He was not a hundred per-cent certain of this, but he had a hunch. If anything, the bookstore merman's words had told him as much.

Alfred waved his free hand dismissively and with hesitation and uncertainty written in bold letters across his face, the sailor watched his captain leave before setting off to relay the information to the rest of the crew.

However, Alfred only made three steps before some intercepted him.

"Captain!" A hand on his shoulder – "With all due respect, where are you going?"

Alfred turned around, eyebrows lifted, eyes widening slightly. The sailor who had grabbed him must have been trying to restrain himself, though, for he quickly took his hand back and the captain could see his jaw muscles tightening.

"Do you want us to go down?"

Alfred felt as though all colour and warmth drained from his skin. When he spoke next, his voice was incredibly still.

"What?"

"All due respect, Captain, but you have been acting in ways that could only suggest you are under that _creature's_" – and here he nodded in the direction of the Captain's cabin – "influence. As you now choose to turn your back on us and this situation, we shall surely sink!"

Something resembling an electric shock shot through the dead-silent audience of crewmembers. "And I do not speak only for myself," the sailor finished. He was as white as a sheet, as the majority of the crew, but his shoulders were squared and his eyes steady. By the many men mirroring the same expression, it was clear to Alfred what was going on: an uprising. The crew was mutinying. During his years as a captain, this had never happened before, though he had heard several tales of others who had gone down in just such a way – however, in those cases, he often caught himself thinking the captain had indeed deserved it.

"I can assure you," he began softly, but then flinging out his arms, looking around at the men, his voice grew in volume with the movement. "I have kept your safety my upmost priority at all times! I agree I may take us on dangerous paths, but never once have I known myself to act foolhardy in regards to this. Neither have I ever, in all my years, done anything that would jeopardize your safety unnecessarily, as long as it was within my power to decide." He let his eyes flow through the crowd, lingering on some and catching their gaze. When he did he could feel how they yielded under his stare, yet they kept standing firm, though their shoulders would limp.

"But that is just it, Captain," the sailor said. "It may no longer be within _your _power."

"I am not being controlled!" Alfred burst out, abrupt and pent-up frustration lashing out in a momentary loss of control. He felt as though he was stuck on repeat. How many times had he not said just that? How could they not see? He would later note to himself that it had not been fair for him to get mad; seeing it from their perspective their actions had been perfectly understandable and he should have been level-headed enough to understand that then as well. But at that moment in time he could not help himself. But he did give yet a brave attempt at calming down, pulling in a deep breath and the strain in his voice was just barely audible. "You have trusted me before, what will it take to regain your confidence in me?"

The faces around him showed mixed emotions. Many looked away at his words, looking as though they wanted to flee, but still stayed where they were. Their hesitant and sad expressions made Alfred feel guilty for what he had said; almost indirectly accusing them of disloyalty. Others looked grim, and in their eyes he could see himself as someone who had lost his mind and self, and he saw their grief and sense of duty to stop him. In truth, they were the most loyal crew anyone could ask for. Alfred clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth so his very jawbone creaked.

"I am afraid as long as _that_ is here, we can no longer trust your words."

The sailor looked him square in the eye and that indescribable frustration from before swelled up in him again. It boiled and seethed under his skin; he felt so helpless, unable to find any words that would somehow make them understand. Lifting his arm in aggravation, as though he would roar to the heavens or pull at his hair, he stopped mid-movement. Putting a sudden lid on all emotions he spun around on his heels and returned to his cabin, shirt fluttering and door slamming behind him. He stopped for two seconds right inside the door, staring about him in blind perplexity. Then, he began pacing.

He walked quickly to the desk, continued on to the window, returned to the door and then began all over again. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it as his mind spun. It was only a matter of time; now that his 'mental instability' had been made official, his crew would no longer follow his orders, and that meant they would try to do something about the merfolk outside. No sailor in his right mind would witlessly attack merpeople of course, but the men most likely felt they were pushed into a corner and would be prepared to take desperate measures. Only when they attacked the merfolk however, would they actually be in the danger they believed they now were in. He had to do something – he slammed his hand on the tabletop – but what?

Rubbing his forehead with one hand, he could feel exhaustion tugging heavily at him. Everything seemed to be breaking up at the seams and coming crashing down at him all at once. Slowly, his gaze that had been resting on the wooden tabletop under his fingers slid upwards. From his watery chamber, the merman was watching him, and that was where Alfred's eyes stopped to rest. For a fleeting moment, they just looked at each other in silence. Then Alfred pulled in a deep breath, closing his eyelids momentarily.

"I need your help."

His voice was little more than a whisper. Opening his eyes, he continued. "Your kind is out there, so are my men. I need your help before they needlessly kill each other." Whether the merman had known beforehand of the merpeople or not was hard to decipher. He moved only slightly in a manner Alfred, throughout the days they had spent together, had decided to be of uncertainty, but this could just as well be as a reaction to his words. Regardless, the merman still spoke.

"What do you intend to do?" he asked, and there was a certain sense of caution to his voice. He had half-risen from the water, the surface cutting him in two at his midriff. He was leaning lightly against the back wall. But Alfred could see that his posture was stiff, and the captain did not blame him; uncertainty, fear and tension hung like a thick, unnerving musk in the air. Watching him, guilty sympathy coiled in Alfred's stomach, for what he was about to request would surely leave the merman a lot worse off than his current unease.

"I think," Alfred spoke heavily, "it is time we went swimming again."

Had he not already been leaning on the back wall, the merman would probably have recoiled, the full meaning of those words making his eyes widen. His gaze flashed to the door as he sunk slowly back down into the water until only the top of his head remained above the surface. Alfred rounded the table to come nearer, hoping for trust in closeness, yet at the same time not going any nearer, as he feared that that would inflict even greater distress on the merman. Weighing his words, Alfred felt as though he was walking on a knife's edge.

"I am not asking you to trust the men out there," he said, his voice low and gentle, but urging enough to make the merman focus on him again. "Though I will not lie and say I do not hope you will someday converse as freely with them as I do. I understand that what I am suggesting is something you do not want to do. It will leave you vulnerable. However" – and he tried to smile, taking a careful step forward and half lifting his hand in an inviting manner – "someone has to take the first step."

The merman did not move. His eyes were so wide the white was visible all the way around the iris, and though it made his throat tighten, Alfred could see no other way to swiftly prevent what was about to unfold outside. He did not come any closer to the tank, and chose instead to speak again.

"I promise I will protect you," he said, and he hoped dearly that his earnest desire to fulfil his promise, which weighed down his every word, somehow reached across to the green-eyed man in the tank. "They won't lay a finger on you. I need to show them that you are not someone to be feared. Afterwards, I will take you down to the water so you may join your people and speak to them. We have to prevent the bloodshed that will surely take place if we do not act." With awake, alert eyes, Alfred surveyed the merman and waited for the slightest sign of refusal. When nothing came, he braved the last steps it took to carry him over to the tank, halting in front of it. He held the merman's gaze with his own for a moment, then he let out a wretched sigh and shook his head with hopelessness.

"I wish you no harm," he said. He had grabbed onto the wooden edge and his eyebrows were knit, pulling upwards in a helpless frown as he looked at the merman again. As their eyes locked, he could suddenly feel a rush of doubt wash over him. It was powerful enough to make his stomach go cold and his heart to flutter uncomfortably. His inner vision conjured up pictures of what could happen should the merman turn on him and incite his people to fight. "And I hope," he said, trying to fight this doubt that had come entirely unannounced and threatened to strangle his voice. Though it was also with a sudden, odd personal fear of rejection that he finished the sentence, "I hope the sentiment is returned."

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><p><strong>AN: ("barry" = "good" in Scottish, apparently.)<strong>

**1. **_**I got fanart! **_**:D It was made by Herpy-Derp: ** art /Merman-England-fanart-Before-They-Learn-To-Swim-3 14260667 **I really love it, it's so cute, and ****Captain Alfred orders you all to check it out. :3 **

**2. I am so sorry for taking so long with this chapter. ,_, Truly. **

**3. I got 22 reviews for the last chapter! Thank you so much, every single one of you! That's the most revs for a single chapter I've ever received so far. *o* (one would think I'd finish this chapter in a day with that many revs and more fanart, and I wanted to, honest. But it seems the more I focus on being fast, the slower I get. x_x)**

**-oh, and lastly, you are all so incredible sweet. :3 I received so many revs saying how I shouldn't worry about the pace and everything. I didn't mean to sound whiny and pitiful in ch 10, I really just wanted to explain myself since several people had mentioned it, but your support and patience truly warms my heart nontheless. :D Thank you. **

**(GAH! The world should know how much I love your reviews! I received so many nice ones, they never fail to put a smile on my face and make my heart go faster no matter how many times I read them. '^')**

**P.S: as my beta was busy, my faithful Red Hot Holly Berries betaed this chapter. :3**

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><p><strong>EDIT 8.20.12<strong>

**Betaed by geekisthenewawesome **


	12. Chapter 12

It was while he was torn between deep anxiousness for the wellbeing of his crew and a heavy concern for the merman, that he did the next few things.

His words had gone unanswered, both verbally and visually, the merman not having done anything whatsoever – perhaps except stiffen even more. As he has watched, hoping frailly for a belated reaction, Alfred's heart had sunk. It was just as he had lost all hope and prepared to return outside to somehow do something about the situation, that a voice had interrupted his actions. It had made him slowly turn back again.

"Where do you suppose you are going?"

The demanding tone and eyes that bore a sharp, yet somehow bashful irritation made Captain Alfred feel stupefied. The sudden change in mood took him quite by surprise and for a few seconds he just stared, dumbfounded. The merman soon gave a sigh of mild annoyance as Alfred still didn't move, and said,

"You wish for me to get acquainted with your crew, do you not?" Then he did a sort of head movement of acknowledgement or awareness and added, "Or rather, for them to get acquainted to me." Squaring his shoulders – a very human thing to do, Alfred would later reflect upon with slight humour – he came to the front of the tank, and smoothly hoisted himself onto the ledge. The movement did hold a bit of awkwardness to it, as his days outside a constricting glass cylinder had not even rounded a month, but it was still enhanced by a certain fleeting elegance that no human could ever hope to imitate. Perched on the wooden edge, the merman waited with brash expectance. The only thing he did not do – but would have fit the picture, an absent part of Alfred's mind noted – was reach his arms for the captain.

The captain quickly collected his thoughts, allowing himself to be stunned not a moment longer. Regaining proper composure, he proceeded to do what made him feel torn between acting for his crew's best and the merman's – which unfortunately were not one and the same. For the shortest time he thought he should ask "are you certain you will be all right?" but he realised that doing so would only be out of polite habit and a shallow try at alleviating his own sense of guilt. He clamped his mouth shut instead. Thereby it was in complete silence that he crossed the floor, and let his arms slip around the damp torso and tail of the merman. He pretended not to notice the momentary quiver, and rapid beating he could feel through the cool skin.

Out on deck the heavy, strained atmosphere hit them like a physical wall, anxiousness and tension painted clearly in the numerous faces surrounding them. At first, Alfred and the merman in his arms went completely unnoticed, the men on deck all too occupied with the threat in the water. However, this only lasted for about as long as it would take to notice a bull entering a porcelains store. The sudden awareness of them went like a shudder through the crew, from the one who had first spotted them, and had to look twice to believe what his vision told him to be true, to the last.

As every man froze to stare, the world seemed to fall deafeningly still. The thunder that had been rumbling a few hours past had at some point stopped and the ocean had been calm since then. Now, as the commotion created by the crew had succumbed as well, the quiet suddenly became very clear, like transparent walls locking them in on every side.

In the attention directed like a spotlight at them, Alfred took three steps forwards, clearing his throat as he did so. He was carrying the merman with both arms, one arm supporting his back and the other hooked under the tail. It was extremely straining on his muscles, but he felt that being dragged along the floor would have been too humiliating and condescending for the merman to bear with the big audience watching. Alfred felt he was already putting enough strain by at all bringing the merman outside. It was the least he could do.

"We need not fear the merpeople," the captain said, and his voice rung loud and clear, amplified by the dead silence. He let the merman slide gently to the deck floor, the green-eyed man curling his tail in front of and around himself. He leaned on one hand, the other resting in his lap, and he sat without a word next to Alfred.

"We can settle this situation by talking, they will listen to us. We have not wronged them; it was the pub keeper who did so and they took their revenge. And, as you all know, he was the only one killed. Had they wished to attack us, they would have done so already. If we do not harm them, we have all reason to believe they will leave us be.

"This," and he turned now to the merman next to him, "is –" but was cut off.

"Have you already forgotten in what state they left the prisoner?" The words were left to sink in, and then, like a wind gaining in strength, murmurs began to fill the air. Though it was not possible for someone on the outside to hear every sentence spoken, certain fleeting words were coherent, slipping from the white-faced throng of men.

"–ripped to pieced–"

"-beyond human recognition-"

"-snuk in-"

"-how-"

"-no defence-"

"-inhuman-"

"-like savage beasts-"

The muscles of Alfred's arms and legs tensed without him being aware of it; this was not going in their favour.

"Men!" he called, his voice successfully managing to carry through the growing noise. "I agree they might be slightly different from us, however, they are not unreasonable. And we shall certainly gain nothing by being heated by each other's speculations and accusations. I repeat what I have already said: they will not-"

"We are doomed!"

It was a melodramatic choice of words at best, but at that moment that did not cross a single mind. Instead the words bore such a downright truth that it sent a shiver up the spine of every man aboard. "We know we have no chance of survival, but I do not intend to go down without a fight!" A wave of acknowledging and agreeing sounds washed across the deck, the sentiment arousing the crew to a despairing defiance. Alfred spotted the sailor who had spoken come through the crowd toward the front, and in his hands, visible to Alfred now as men stepped out of the way, was something that made his stomach go cold.

"For the best chance, I suggest we start with the one at hand." The sailor stopped, raised his hand and in the soft light of morning glinted the barrel of a gun – pointed straight at the merman's head.

Then many things suddenly happened all at once.

At the open sight of a weapon every sailor seemed to tense, automatically readying for action. From the left, one who had been biting the inner side of his cheek began forcing his way forwards; but at his first step, he already saw he would not get there in time. Simultaneously, the skies overhead grew dark grey. Clouds gathered and bulked up to form great raging mountains, and as though to mirror it, the ocean below began to boil and dance dangerously. Stirred to life by something that could not have been a natural cause, it began to pull and push at the ship, which only moments before had been lying near motionlessly in the water, and the vessel began to roll in deep throws. But Alfred barely took note of any of this; he only had eyes for the coldly glistering threat, and without thinking he stepped in between the deadly barrel and its target.

"Lower your weapon!" his voice thundered, booming with anger and an authority that dared anyone to oppose it. The one who was desperately trying to reach them through the crowd felt the delicate hairs of his neck stand on end, for one frozen moment no one moved, and a wild, contorted look stiffened in place on the offending sailor's face.

However, whatever would have happened next was swiftly interrupted. A great wave built up out of nowhere and crashed into the ship's side. Water washed over the wooden deck, the ship careening to one side and many of the men lost their balance on impact.

The gun flew out of the sailor's hand as he stumbled, a shot ringing toward the sky and the man tumbled down the sloping deck. Rushing saltwater swept his feet away and as he struggled to stay upright he hit the bulwark, balanced one terrifying moment then took overweight. He would have fallen overboard and plunged down to the grave, waiting faces in the waves had not the weapon's master and another sailor grabbed him by his belt and trousers, hauling him back to safety at the last moment.

All around them, sounding so clearly now that foothold had been regained and they had time to move their focus outside themselves and notice, were singing voices. Dozens of voices melding and blending together in a terrible, beautiful symphony that rose and sunk with the waves and melted into the wind so it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

As the pale faced men pulled back from the bulwark and other various positions across the deck, clustering tightly around the main mast to find protection in each other, Alfred had remained by the merman. He had managed to keep his stance, only stumbling a little, and now, despite the sound vibrating all around, he felt strangely at ease – as though the threat was not meant for him. As all focus on the merman had now completely vanished, he relaxed his taut muscles and with that removed the hand he that had flown to the hilt of the gun at his hip. In the commotion, his coat had hid the automatic action, which Alfred was glad for. He felt his fingertips linger for a split second as his brows knit to form a troubled crease, but then snatched his fingers away. At the moment, he had no time to dwell on it. Shoving it to back of his mind, he gave his cowering crew a sweeping glance.

"Now, if you will all listen to me, we will get from this perfectly unscathed." Despite the roar of the ocean and whipping winds, Alfred's voice still bore through. Every sailor stared at him, even as they kept throwing terrified glances toward the bulwark, soaking him up and clinging to him with their eyes as they would to a lifeline in bad weather. "First and foremost, what you need to understand is that this," he gestured to the vast waters surrounding the ship, "is not an attack." That they did not believe him was easy to see, but none dared speak up against him in fear for the consequences. Alfred could continue unhindered.

"It's defence."

There was a heavy pause, the captain giving time for the words to sink in. In the sailors' current state, words would have a tough time getting through. Alfred knew this. But words was all he had, and when he next opened his mouth, he prepared to give the explanation to back up his claim. In truth, it was only a theory on his part. Yet, he felt certain that if the merfolk had actually wanted to hut them after the sailor's failed attack, the ship would have already been reduced to driftwood. He chose his next words carefully, beginning slowly.

"Many of you have families back home. Imagine… if you met a new group of people, a French family perhaps, or Spanish. You would greet each other in peace, as is polite. But if a person from the other group suddenly pointed a gun to your child's head, or your brother, or your wife, would you not put a knife to the offending person's throat to defend those dear to you?" Alfred gave his crew a short once-over again. Full comprehension was far from dawning in their eyes, but at least they were silent, listening.

"This," he showed with a hand toward the merman next to him. The green-eyed man flinched slightly at the sudden attention, but save for a flickering glance in Alfred's direction, he remained perfectly still. "This is Arthur," Alfred ignored the light nibbling sensation rushing up his spine as his lips formed around the name and carried on without faltering, "and the merpeople out there is his family. I know we are not the same, but they are not as different from us as you may think. They feel, just like us; they are perfectly capable of experiencing joy as well as great pain and fear, and when something threatens them they will defend themselves – as would any of you."

Again, Alfred let speech give way for silence and this time, by the look on their faces, he knew he had reached through. At least that he was beginning to. His words hung in the air, slowly dissolving, echoing between the ears of every sailor on deck to haunt their minds for many days and nights to come. However, as the captain's words forced themselves into the sailors' minds, something else became screamingly evident in the quiet air; while he had spoken, the songs had died away, and with them, the raging powers of nature. Now the water lay unnaturally flat and blank like a mirror, stretching as far as the eye could see. The waves that only minutes ago had threatened to throw them over board were not even a faint whisper across the completely still surface.

A few decades later and for many decades to follow, when the life of Captain Alfred had become great stories to be shared, they would tell of how the single, mortal captain had tamed the oceans and soothed the winds with his words alone. And, for every time retold, the story would grow greater and grander. But for now, every man on-board could only look at the so ordinary man standing before them and thank whatever lucky star looking out for them. That, and the strength, or strange fortune, of their captain.

With only a few men separating him from the front of the throng, stood the quartermaster. He could feel how the other sailors so close around him at every side stood rigid. He could only imagine their internal battles as this new information went up against all the tales they had been told since childhood. Then he watched his captain, _his_ captain,_ their _captain, the man they had trusted for several years, sigh heavily and almost sink in on himself as though gripped by great fatigue. Toris could not help but feel deep despair and helpless frustration. The feeling of having let his captain down by not being able to prevent this and ease the crew's growing anxiousness was impossible to shake. He knew of course that despite how it looked, the men were acting out of love for their captain and in spirit of what they believe was best, and that Alfred would never blame them. But that didn't stop the feeling from eating away at the quartermaster. He pulled in a deep breath.

As he took a step forward, he opened his mouth to speak – what he would say, he did not know, he only knew he had to do _something_. He was stopped when Alfred's voice rang out again.

"Arthur and I will go and speak to them now," he said, words slow and clear as his gaze washed over the crew. "We will need to be lowered down to the water in one of the longboats, and then we will solve this… situation." He gesticulated absentmindedly with one hand for emphasis and paused to glance down at the merman, who in turn did not appear to give any form of reaction – for better or worse. Alfred returned his attention to the crew. "Who volunteer to help me get the long boat ready?"

That was all he needed, and Toris had squeezed his way out of the crowd of sailors. To remember that he was a high ranking officer was all he could do to keep from running the few metres across to the captain. He offered Alfred a soft smile once he was there, which earned him a grateful, silent nod in return.

Not far behind him, the navigator had followed, and stopped to stand without a word next to Toris by their captain. No murmurs could be heard as they looked back to the rest of the sailors, but the shuffle going through the group, as well as the flickering glances and ducking heads, spoke louder than any voice could.

Steps approaching from the right of the captain made everyone's attention snap in that direction in surprise, a sentiment that did not lessen when none other than the helmsman declined calmly from the helm. As he crossed the deck, he first gave one of the sailors a light shove in the shoulder. With a jerk of the head, he had the sailor scrambling up the stairs to grab the wheel. Not that they were actually moving much, but it did not matter. The helmsman then went – and almost pointedly so – to stand next to the merman by the captain's side.

Toris glanced at him, but Eska gave no sign of discomfort, only silently and calmly faced the crew. The quartermaster followed his example, and now the internal struggle was clear as day on their faces. Yet none of them moved, not even when a gruff hawk sounded from the back of the crowd and the burly cook emerged with a few choice curses. He took up position next to the helmsman, a look of subdued annoyance in his eyes and crossed arms. Through the passage left by the cook, the quartermaster could spot the young lookout all the way at the complete back. Toris saw the troubled eyebrows and the lips pressed thin and white on the young man's face. When their eyes briefly met, Aaron bowed his head and ducked away into the crowd.

To his left, Toris could hear Alfred sigh, though softly enough that he doubted the crew across from them noticed. However, when he turned slightly so he could see his captain's face, he doubted the ache in his chest could get any worse as Alfred nodded with finality and pulled his lips into a gentle smile sent to their crew.

"Yes, I believe that should suffice," was all he said, and Toris was left dumbstruck and with such a deep feeling of utter helplessness that it pinched painfully behind his eyes. The smile remained on the captain's face, though the weariness shining through was impossible to miss.

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><p>The longboat had been prepared and hefted, the captain and merman slowly lowered to the black, flat water. They stayed there for a lot longer than the quartermaster was comfortable with, but like his fellow sailors aboard the ship, he could not bring himself to throw even the swiftest of glances across the rail. When it came down to it, no one dared walk even remotely close to the edges of the ship, keeping their attention pointed in a completely different direction.<p>

It was a surreal atmosphere. Rather than floating on water, it felt as though they were coursing through empty space, with no sense of how fast they were going, or if they were moving at all. The men moving slowly and reserved were more like flighty shadows of what they had once been. More than once Toris nearly believed they would implode into smoke and dissolve should they touch by each other. No sounds came from the world on the other side of the rail, no proof his captain was still alive or otherwise. The only sounds that could be heard were soft, low murmurs that fluttered scarcely across the vessel. The quartermaster caught himself wondering if maybe this was all an illusion, and that they had sailed across the edge of the world, doomed to fall forever without being aware.

When a shout suddenly rang out to him, and he spotted Alfred by the bulwark, a sigh of relief escaped him. He hurried over, approaching more carefully when he drew closer, and helped haul up, and secure, the longboat. Then, by a brief nod from the captain and after a short glance at the merman, he helped carry the tailed being to Alfred's quarters.

The merman was eased into the water of the tank without a word before the captain turned to Toris, patting him briefly on the shoulder. "Thank you," he said and let out a heavy breath. Toris' stomach coiled, but he tried to smile.

"Always, Alfred," he said. His captain's surprise at the familiarity was clear, but the appreciation in his eyes was just as obvious.

Toris saluted and retreated to leave the tired captain in peace. When he returned outside and closed the door, it was as though the sound of them closing shattered the dreamlike state of the world. Several sailors looked in his direction, but they said nothing; instead they picked up their pace, walking with more resolution in their steps.

The vessel began moving, softly like the giant cradle it was on the seas. The sails that had been hanging slack overhead bent out again with a fresh wind steadily picking up.

No one knew exactly what had happened between Alfred and the merfolk, and no one asked – not even Toris, as the weary shadow in the captain's eyes was more than enough to discourage him whenever he thought to bring up the issue. But when one of the sailors the next day braved a glance across the rail, there was no trace of the bleak faces.

One would think this would immediately have the crew cheering Alfred's name and boast his incredible skill, but alas, it was not to be so simple. While the crew did not oppose Alfred as a captain again, willingly following his orders like normal, they were still cautiously glancing at him whenever they thought he was not looking. The normally loud and mirthful chatter of the crew had remained at a low murmur, and no one really spoke to the captain more than what their rank demanded of them.

For three days this kept up. Alfred took to remaining on the helm for long periods at a time and two nights in a row, he covered the helmsman's night duty. Whether this was out of concern for his crew, worry for the merfolk, or that he otherwise just could not sleep, was impossible for Toris to tell.

Whenever he was not on the helm, the quartermaster would find him in his cabin, deeply engulfed in his log or large maps or other documents. He had once walked in to the scene of the merman holding a set a documents as well, looking for all in the world like a deer caught in a hunter's lamplight, but Toris decided not to comment on it. On the other hand, he did on the second day softly hint to his worry for Alfred not getting enough sleep. At this, the captain had just smiled, laughed a little even – though the strain did not escape Toris – and said there was no reason for his concern. The quartermaster did not bring it up again, if anything than just because of the look in his captain's eyes.

Toris also spotted the lookout every now and again, and he did not fail to notice how the younger man no longer part-took in lowered mumbles with his crewmates. But neither did he approach the quartermaster. Instead, he ducked his head and quickly walked off whenever Toris made eye contact, and remained nearly religiously in the crow's nest.

Alfred and the merman did not return to the longboat either, and the captain in general acted as though nothing had happened. That is to say, he was not ignorantly dismissing anything had actually happened, but he treated his men the exact same way he had always done. Even despite how they cautiously approached him and their hesitant response when he addressed them. The fact that he had most likely saved them was not lost on them, but like one of the sailors muttered the second night,

"It could all be a plot. To try and calm us down so they can catch us completely unawares and eat us without being resisted."

Toris suspected he was not supposed to have heard it, as he by siding with the captain also could be deemed as being controlled by the merfolk. If anything, it was rather obvious by how the men would not mention these things except when they thought himself, the navigator, helmsman and cook not to be around. He had walked in on them once, talking about it, and had since taken to eavesdrop and watch them in secret. For the time being though, he heard nothing he had not heard before.

* * *

><p>There was a knock on the door. After receiving no reply the knocking was repeated and when this went unanswered as well, the door handle was pushed down. The door opened gently, just enough to let the hesitant head of the lookout pass through and peer inside.<p>

"Captain?"

Ordinarily, the so complete lack of reply would have made Aaron – and any other sailor – leave the cabin's doors a long time ago. But a lot had happened, three days had passed, and the ship was still seared through with a tense atmosphere. And Aaron could not help but feel he was in the middle of all – he was basically one of the main reasons the crew had stood up in the first place. Besides, despite what had happened on deck and the absence of faces staring at him from the waves, his unease was far from settled. A sneaking feeling of how this could not be the end always followed him. He was ashamed of this – he wished, he _wanted_ to trust the captain with all he had, yet could not shake the cold, paranoid feeling haunting him.

It had taken him several attempts and a lot of self-reprimands and deep breaths to force himself to approach the doors of the captain's cabin; the guilt and sensation of having backstabbed his own captain was burning holes in him. He knew if he turned back now, he would not manage to build up the courage to face the captain again for his betrayal. Therefore he pushed on and took a few tentative steps into the cabin, closing the door softly behind him. He knew for sure he had last seen the captain retreat to his cabin and not come back out, as he had been watching the doors for a long while before approaching them.

However, the room that met him was dim, the sole source of light being a flickering lantern left on the desk, and with no sign of the captain. Aaron frowned; the captain normally knew better than to leave a light burning unattended. Walking over to it, and glancing at the documents and parchments strewn on the desk, he found no further clue to where his blond captain had vanished off to. How Alfred had managed to leave the cabin even as the lookout had been observing the door so closely, was left a mystery.

Sighing, he turned – and came to stare straight at what he had been looking for. Albeit it took him a full six seconds for him to actually realise it: on the bed, in the outer ring of the irregular light of the lantern, lay a figure.

"Cap-"

To his right someone clicked their tongue. Aaron froze mid-stride as he had been about to near the bed, and with wide eyes he slowly looked to the right. Glittering green gazed right back at him and made the small hairs on his neck stand on end as a numbing chill rushed up his spine.

"What sort of insolent behaviour is this?" the green eyes sported one lifted eyebrow, the creature they belonged to eyeing Aaron up and down with a less than impressed expression. His voice was strangely low, but his speech was still clear. "He speaks so warmly of you, but honestly I fail to see why," the creature whispered on. It then stopped and waited for Aaron to make some sort of reply, but when that didn't happen it clicked its tongue softly once more and continued. "He is asleep, can you not see? Any good subordinate would leave him alone – a good subordinate wouldn't even have entered."

Aaron was perplexed. For a good while he just stood there, shocked into a complete loss of what to do. When he finally tried forming words with his lips, it proved to be a futile attempt as his voice box saw it fit not to back him up. His eyes flickered from the creature to Alfred.

"I-" he was finally able to stutter, but was immediately silenced by a hush.

"What part of him sleeping do you no understand?" the creature hissed, sounding annoyed. "Lower your voice, you oaf."

"Oh." Aaron felt more than a little out of it, and the soft heat rising in his cheeks felt too normal in the surreal situation. He suspected he looked like a complete fool standing there, stupefied, arms hanging slack with surprised –eyes round and mouth open, too. "I'm sorry," he blurted in the end, though the words tumbled from his lips out of habit rather than actual politeness.

The creature rolled its eyes, but then it seemed to grow thoughtful. Its gaze shifted to the sleeping captain, and the creature fell quiet. In the silence, Aaron could hear his own heartbeat drum away on the inside of his ears, and he barely dared to move as the minutes crawled by. When the creature's attention returned to him he all but jumped, however, its irritated expression from before had vanished. In its place was one of deep, serious contemplation and to Aaron it somehow made the creature look so much older, giving him the feeling it knew so many things he had yet to learn, or would maybe never so. And, in its own strange way, though gradually, it made Aaron relax.

"I shall have you know, he has had very little sleep as of late," the creature said, "of… various reasons. I think it best if we let him sleep whenever he has the possibility to do so." Aaron didn't nod, didn't speak; only regarded the captain in wonder. "He speaks very highly of you, you know." The words made Aaron jerk back around and the creature's eyes caught his. "He says this is the finest crew any captain could ever hope to command."

Aaron's brows shot upwards and he could not help the disbelief that seeped into his voice. "Even after all that has happened? Even after the majority of the crew has opposed him?" He could feel his own stomach churn, and nausea rose deep in his throat at his own words, guilt gnawing away at him.

"That is not your fault. Nor your captain's. If anything, it was the result of an unfortunate turn of events. Your captain," and the creature looked him so deeply in the eye Aaron for a moment lost all sense of material surroundings as the intense green colour seared into him, washing him away and sucking him in, "wants nothing more than to protect his crew, no matter the cost."

Aaron's tongue felt abnormally large and rough, the roof of his mouth and his throat suddenly all too dry. He looked back to the captain then, the closed eyes he could just barely make out in the dim light, the parchments lying loosely in his hand proof of how he had fallen asleep while still working. The heavy, slow rise and fall of his chest. But when he looked closer he could also see the fragile skin beneath the eyes imbedded with fatigue, lines of worry and stress creasing the usually smooth face, hair slightly unkempt. The young lookout's frown deepened but his gaze returned to the creature in the tank, confusion swirling through his mind.

"Why are you saying all this?"

"Because I did not hypnotise him or otherwise force my will on him." The creature steadily held his gaze, and Aaron yet again found himself unable to look away. "I only did so once and briefly, at the very beginning of my… _stay_… here, when he made the hole in my cylinder tank. I will not deny that if I wished it I would have no trouble bewitching him again. However, despite you and the rest of your kind's seemingly general opinion of my people, we are not devoid of ordinary sentiment – including debt and honour." Here the creature lost some of its graveness in the favour of a sigh and a small crease between its brows. "If anything, he did in some meaning of the word save me," the crease deepened and the creature frowned for a moment, scrunching up its nose as well. But then it sighed again and lost the grimace. "What sort of person would I be if I repaid him by taking advantage of him?"

The voice had been even lower this time, Aaron just barely catching the breathed words. He felt as though his world was reeling, losing his footing and remaining upright at the same time as the words so quietly spoken opposed all his expectations. This time it was the merman who looked away. The next words rolled off the outlook's tongue before he could think better of it and stop himself,

"And so here you are, watching over him instead?"

Immediately, the green eyes flashed at him, narrowing. "Don't fool yourself, youngling, I am merely returning a favour," the creature grumbled. But even though a faint tingle crawled through him by merely being the object of the merman's sharp attention, Aaron didn't feel quite as intimidated as he had before. This surprised him, and thousand thoughts tumbled through his head, confusion shrouding the majority of them.

"Why didn't you say all this out on deck?" Aaron frowned, voice soft. But the merman only shrugged and looked him dead in the eye.

"Would it have made a difference?"

Aaron swallowed. "No- …no, I suppose not." He bit his lip as the memory of the incident flashed before his eyes. No matter what the merman had done, it would have easily been perceived as nothing but an act, and if anything only added to the crew's suspicion. Even if there had been even the slimmest possibility it could have changed things, that was all in the past now, and they had to deal with the situation as it was right now.

While he had indecisively paced at a distance from the captain's cabin, he had run countless scenarios in his mind. But he could never think of anything that would really help the situation they were in. He always came to the same conclusion; only time could solve this – and maybe the captain, although he could not see how. It made him bitterly happy the responsibility as a captain did not rest on his shoulders, which only fuelled the original sick feeling of betrayal in his gut.

On the bed, the captain's breath was slow and steady, witness to the captain's deep sleep, and Aaron found a slight comfort in that. He briefly wanted to remove the documents from his captain's hands and ease him into a more comfortable position, but he did not want to risk waking him. Instead, he settled for gently blowing out the light flickering in the lantern.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>

**This chapter hasn't been betaed. **

_**FANART! :D **_ chiaramelacarne dot deviantart dot com / art/Merman-Arthur-310338765 **I like this soo much. ^^ Especially the fingers (don't ask why, I'm weird) and the tail fin (**_**almost almost**_** like I imagine it :D ).**

**Check this out: ** youtube dot com / watch?v=ry8Z0CaVqrk** Pretty please? And tell me what you think. (and if it was horrible, at least now you know what my voice sounds like xD )**

…**I'm sorry for taking so long. I have been (still am) battling the worst, strangest writer's block I've ever experienced. It's horrible. Q.Q Since I feel really bad for having you wait so long, I hurried to post this once it was finished, which is why it has not been betaed yet (my beta is working on it though). **


	13. Chapter 13

Alfred gave a weighty sigh. The documents beneath him had been read and reread half a dozen times already, and as his thoughts weighed down on him, the words were no longer registering in his mind. But as it was, he had found that burying himself in paperwork had been the best way to distract himself; four days had now passed, and it had been the longest four days of his life. Occupying himself with paperwork had worked, until now.

Rubbing his face tiredly, he halted in the movement; hands still kept in front of his face, and glancing out of the corner of his eye he could see the water tank situated behind him to the left. Propped against the edge was the merman, a small pile of paper sheets in his hands, held at a safe distance from the saltwater.

A soft smile slid subconsciously onto his lips, as he watched the mer- _Arthur_ lean closer to the paper, eyebrows drawing together to create a small crease; he had probably found a difficult word, but was trying to solve it without having to ask the navy captain. Not so long ago that frown would have been on constant display, but as the merman had gotten more used to reading, it had slowly softened and evened out. Replaced by that relaxed look of silent entertainment.

It had taken a while to get Arthur to read again, though. After the incident with the book on merfolk and mention of green teeth, the merman had seemed to regard every document or book in Alfred's hands as a personal insult. But really, in the end, it hadn't been all too difficult – time-consuming, but not hard. Alfred had not been the only one troubled by heavy thoughts as of late (Alfred cringed inwardly at the memory of that early morning four days ago), and in the end the merman had welcomed the distraction with little fuss.

Thus it was that Arthur had been reading Shakespeare for the last four days, his elbows propped on the edge of the tank, tailfin moving lazily every once in a while. Sometimes it hung over the opposite edge of the tank, making a soft swishing sound in the air when the merman moved it.

Shakespeare's plays had been a gift from Alfred's brother – he did have a complete collection of the playwright's work in his living room back on land, bound in the finest leather and everything. He had never read it all, but when his brother gave it to him, Alfred had been happy. A respected man should always have a certain range of works at hand in his home. Then a theatre had once decided to get rid of their copies of a collected few manuscripts in favour of procuring new ones, and so his brother had gotten his hands on a few of them through a friend. He had given them to Alfred, suggesting it could be nice to have around on the ship should there come days with sparse wind and nothing to do.

Alfred had only once or twice paged distractedly through one of them since then, but the merman had – as far as the captain could tell – taken an immediate liking to them. In the beginning, Alfred had spent long hours sitting by the tank, reading out loud for the merman. Then that had progressed into Arthur reading and Alfred assisting, to Alfred sitting by his desk and listening as Arthur read aloud and Alfred helping him along whenever he was stuck, to Arthur reading by himself and only speaking up when he came across a word he just couldn't understand. Truly, he had been a very quick study, picking up pronunciation quickly and memorising words with seemingly little difficulty.

Once, Toris had walked in on them while Arthur was reading, and it had put the merman off the activity for a little while. He had always been very swift to put the papers away and sink back into the water whenever someone came to their cabin, but that one time the merman must have been too caught up in a scene to notice the knock on the door. It had taken Alfred quite a bit of coaxing to make the merman return to the manuscripts. Arthur had regressed to staying under water, curled against the back wall with a blank expression (a look that was so reminiscent of Arthur's first days on-board that Alfred had felt worry stir in his gut) and guarding on the door with watchful eyes.

The smile slipped from Alfred's face. As his eyes returned to gazing forwards, he lowered his hands slowly, tabletop and documents once again coming into view. A grim feeling gripped his chest uncomfortably. At the edge of the lantern light, aside the sheets of paper, lay his gun. Casting dark shadows across itself, the weapon's streamlined edges caught in the flickering light, reflecting it in sharp, thin lines. His eyes chased the wooden grip, so carefully carved and worked to perfection, running along and supporting the iron barrel. He traced the delicate silver spirals hammered into the wood, neatly decorating it and making it stand out from the lower ranking sailors' weapons. As it now lay there, the scars and scratches normally invisible in daylight were easy to make out in the light from the lantern. Criss-crossing one another and marring the polished material they made an intricate web, testimony to the weapon's long service and the hazards that came with a captain's occupation. At the end of its barrel, many a man had found his death.

This very barrel Alfred had been fully prepared to point against one of his own men without a moment's hesitation or second thought. While he doubted anyone had noticed it in the middle of the chaos, it did not change the fact that he, Captain Alfred F. Jones, had held his hand ready on the hilt of the gun because Arthur had been endangered. He could tell himself different as much as he liked, but deep down he knew without a shadow of doubt: he had had every intent of going through with it too. Had the sailor taken one more step forward, had his firing arm moved but half an inch, Alfred would have raised his hand and shot him.

The captain rubbed his face again, almost in an attempt to physically brush away the feelings of confusion, worry, regret and despair tumbling painfully about inside him. Pulling in a deep breath to calm himself, he held it for a moment before letting it out. The exhale trembled more than he had been prepared for, and he became shamefully aware of the sound it made in the silent air. With that, he suddenly also became very aware of the fact that he was not alone in the room. He leaned his head in his hands, hiding his face from the rest of the world. Even as his mind conjured the image of the merman floating in the tank with his elbows propped on the edge, he did not look.

Instead, he remained as he was, focusing on his breathing, and tried not to flinch as the memories of the past four days presented themselves for his mind's eye and flickered in and out of focus.

He could remember Arthur's face as they were lowered down to the still water, silent anticipation and tension hanging thick in the air and pressing on from all sides. His face had been expressionless, void of all emotion, as was his defence mechanism after so many years in imprisonment. At least that was what Alfred had long since decided to interpret it as, and if anything, only a quick glance to the merman's eyes would prove him right; they stood in stark contrast to the rest of his face. They were open wide and staring stiffly to the railing of the longboat, but not looking across and down.

_Alfred understood what the other might be going through, the feelings warring inside him, but he could not even faintly begin to fathom it, and was not able to think of anything that might help. He could only silently hope that the meeting would not disappoint, and would somehow, in the long term, heal Arthur from the effects that surely remained in his mind from the long decades on land. That it could help him, that it could give him some relief or other, that it could cure his fear of the deep blue. _

_They reached the surface, floating one breathless moment with no sounds being exchanged. Arthur stared out at the scene in front of him, eyes shifting nervously and glazing over with apprehension. However, Alfred knew he did not fool himself as he believed he could also spot strong expectation and hope behind the primary feeling of unease. _

_Then the familiar redheaded merman swam closer and in contradiction to the coarse voice he had used when talking to Alfred before, soft sounds flitted from his mouth. The tones varied and sometimes there were short halts before it started up again. More than anything, it reminded Alfred of smoothly running water, and it took him several long moments before he understood that this was in fact a language he was hearing._

_For a split second he marvelled at the sound of it, its soft, comforting qualities. Even though he could not understand it, it still seemed to seep into him, making his insides feel warm and serene …and safe. _

_But it lasted only for that one short second, for he came to turn to Arthur and all what he had felt suddenly fell stone cold. _

_The merman was leaning on the railing, but his brows were drawn together and up. His face, that had been blank shortly before, was showing one plain feeling above all others that made a painful jab in Alfred's chest. _

"_I-"_

_Arthur's voice sounded so low, so helpless, so weak right then that Alfred was hit with a strong urge to hold him, rock him gently and shield him from the world that had been so unfair to him. The urge burned with such abrupt intensity it nearly made the captain gasp. _

"_I- can't-…" Arthur whispered, and Alfred's nails and fingertips dug into the palm of his hands. Arthur couldn't understand what they were saying. The red haired merman just gazed at him, though what was going through his mind was impossible to tell._

_The world was at a standstill. Waiting, motionless, stopped. _

_Then something moved in the redhead's face and the moment shattered. Like glass. A hard scowl suddenly smacked down onto the merman's face and his attention whipped around to Alfred. He looked him over, giving the captain the distinct feeling of being measured and evaluated. _

_When he moved, it was quicker than thought, yet the motion was smooth and fluid. By the time Alfred's brain had caught up, Arthur was extended across the railing. The black water reflected him from head to waist in dark, slightly contorted shades, and the redhead was holding his hand. _

_As he had first latched onto Arthur, Arthur had momentarily let himself be pulled. But then something must have made him change his mind, or caught up with events, for he protested. Saying nothing Arthur shook his head, and when the other perplexedly let him go, he retracted to the centre of the longboat and curled into himself. _

_The crimson haired merman's eyes were as glued to Arthur, and it gave Alfred a chance to take in his facial expression and not be able to understand it at all. There was a myriad of feelings seeming to war for control; it wasn't possible to separate one from the other. _

_Soft keens gently penetrated the air. It had started up so gingerly Alfred couldn't determine when it had begun, and with the sounds, facial expressions slowly shattered their blank masks. Windows of sorrow gazed at the curled up merman in the boat from faces contorted in age's old pain and sadness, and by his side Arthur shivered lightly, involuntary little jerks rocking his body every now and again. _

_As he looked out across them, their despairing gazes and quiet wails burrowed into him even though they were not meant for him, he found himself not understanding how these compassionate beings could ever have been regarded and shunned as senseless murderers. _

_Then the red haired merman's attention was suddenly turned to him and Alfred was snapped back into focus. The merman stared at him, much like he had before, though the green eyes bore a more thoughtful than harsh hue this time – but there was a certain sharp sheen hidden underneath, visible enough to be a vague warning. _

"_Why do ye have him? Whit did ye do ta him? _

_In the long wordlessness and amidst the floating sounds that, despite their heavy emotion, carried softly with the air, the human language sounded surprisingly coarse and brutish. So much so, that it made Alfred flinch. _

"_Th' only reason ye're still breathin' is because ye were nae present when he was taken from us." _

_An involuntary shiver went up Alfred's spine as he was trapped in those emerald eyes not straying the least from him. With the first syllable everything went completely silent again, the merpeoples' sounds snuffed out like a small flame. Out across the water were soundless figures mirroring the crimson haired one; their tender vulnerability from the second before gone without a trace. _

Captain Alfred sighed heavily, rubbed his face and let his hands fall quietly to the tabletop. For a moment he gazed ahead, the wide arched windows gazing emptily back, save for the two stern lanterns seeming almost like hazy pupils in the glass. Then he pushed up from the table with sudden firmness and stood.

"Arthur, are you hungry?"

The merman glanced up from the literature in his hands, though from the way his eyes left the paper Alfred got the distinct sensation that the merman hadn't actually been reading for a long while. He had probably just looked down at the documents again when Alfred stood. But Alfred ignored this and waited for an answer whilst capping the ink.

"Yes," the merman said slowly after a lengthy pause. Alfred simply nodded in reply and went for the door, grabbing the gun and slipping it into its holster on the way – more out of habit that anything else.

He headed for the galley, absentmindedly enjoying the cool air against his skin and by old habit taking note of the men on guard – their position, their pose, who they were, what they fiddled with. But in his head, his thoughts constantly looped around the memory he now couldn't seem to shake off.

He had told them what had happened, told the merpeople the entire story of how he came to stumble upon the merman in a tank on a small pub's low stage. How he had brought it with him on a whim and in short the events that had followed. He had seen no reason not to, and the end of his tale had been met by silence that reigned for a while. No one had moved; Arthur hadn't made the smallest sound or notion to object to what he had said – only looked away when the matter of his swimming abilities had been grazed –, and the merpeople's faces had betrayed no emotion.

_Then, as the early morning air was slowly creeping into his joints, making them ache dully from its chill and growing gradually rigid from sitting still, the red haired merman opened his mouth and spoke. _

"_I see nae reason ta believe ye're tellin' anything but th' truth, an' I believe me broth' would have protested had yer words been lies. We will follow yer ship, an' help Arthur learn ta swim," he looked at the sandy blond merman, pausing shortly as they locked eyes. "An' when he's ready, we'll take him with us back home." He looked back to Alfred. The captain in turn nodded, but a sudden weight seemed to appear without forewarning in his gut at the merman's words. He ignored it, and getting the impression they were done, he was about to pull the boat back to the ship's side and get back on deck. _

_However, before he could even grab the rope, the merman spoke again. And this time, he was slowly floating closer until he was right at the longboat's edge, arms propped up on it and staring firmly at the captain. _

"_Ye have given us nae reason ta distrust ye, 'n' we will nae harm ye; _provided_ we are shown th' same courtesy by any 'n' all o' yer men. And while yer intentions appear honest at th' current moment in time, ken that we will be keepin' an eye on ye. One wrong move, Captain, and ye will nae live ta regret it." _

_Something about the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes made Alfred feel abruptly cold, and wonder exactly how much this merman knew. _

But nothing more had been said, and Alfred and Arthur had returned to the ship in silence.

He breathed deeply and returned out on deck with a deep red fish on a plate in his hands. The men on guard had barely moved, but even though it was dark and they couldn't make out each other's faces, he knew very well that they were keeping an eye on him. Shifting his gaze upwards, he could see the silent form of the helmsman; he had no doubt he was being gazed upon as well in return, but the two remained in comfortable stillness without visibly acknowledging each other.

Alfred closed his eyes briefly, tipping his head ever so slightly back before retaining a normal posture and shaking his head softly as he headed for his cabin. The men were doing their job; they were not protesting, not doing anything to object him, but they weren't moving forwards either. It had been four days. If they continued like this, nothing would ever change and in the end, something was bound to snap.

* * *

><p>"Arthur?"<p>

The subdued sound of slightly disrupted water; most would have disregarded it as an effect of the ship's constant movement. But Alfred knew better.

"I think we should resume the swimming tomorrow," Alfred said.

A "_what?_" was snapped sharply from the tank.

Letting the quiet, thoughtful tone that at first had dominated his voice slip for a moment in favour of a grin Alfred answered,

"Because I promised I would teach you, and I shall have you know Captain Alfred F. Jones never breaks his promises." He winked for good measure, even though they could not see each other, and from the tank came a small snort. Alfred chuckled softly, then fell serious again, looking up at the floorboards he could barely make out over his head. The night air was quiet, no sounds to disrupt it; no loud voices, no waves crashing against the ship's side, no lapping of water against glass and wood, nothing save the languid groaning of the vessel as she rocked slowly.

"That's your people out there, your family."

A short pause. Alfred's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"And my men. Albeit our demons vary to a certain degree, we still need to face them. Nothing good will come of continuing to avoiding it."

"'_The cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come_.'" It was recited quietly, but apart from it, Arthur offered no more words. Of objection, or otherwise, and silence once again engulfed the cabin.

* * *

><p>The sun hung bright and clear overhead, the wind stroking cheerful caresses along the ship, clouds scattered in white balls of fluff here and there on an otherwise spot free blue sky.<p>

Alfred pulled the fresh, salty air deep into his lungs, held it, his gaze sliding across the deck. He nodded firmly to himself and breathed out.

They had just been postponing the inevitable, really. The men knew what they had on board; they knew what swam below the ship's hull, and they knew their captain's position in all this. It was about time they got used to seeing it out in the open. Besides, much like he had said to the merman – and himself – yesterday, nothing good came out of avoiding the issue. Besides, how would the men ever be convinced the merpeople posed no threat if they were never around them anyway? Squinting as he looked up at the brilliant sky, Alfred decided this day was as good as any to begin getting the crew used to Arthur.

"Quartermaster!" he called out. He both saw and felt all the eyes watching him, but paid it no heed.

"Captain," the quartermaster greeted, having just crossed the deck from talking to one of the sailors.

"Ready one of the longboats, lower the main sails and send someone to help me carry Arthur."

"Right away, Captain," Toris saluted good heartedly. As Alfred returned to his cabin, he heard his orders repeated loudly to the men and the shuffling that came with men getting on with the task.

* * *

><p>At first, when the captain had safely seated himself after climbing down the rope ladder, the water surface was nothing but merry waves and dark green blue changing sharply to silvery white where the sun reflected off it. Then, without forewarning, red hair and green eyes emerged just a couple feet from the longboat's side. As though it was a signal of clearance, several more heads appeared, though staying at a farther distance, observing.<p>

"Good day," Alfred said, keeping his voice light-hearted and promptly ignored the glance Arthur sent his way. The redheaded merman lifted an eyebrow, did something that could only be described as 'leaning back' in the water, a move which most likely no human would be able to copy. Minutes slid by, and only when the captain finally decided to abandon the thought that he would receive a reply did the merman returned his words.

Alfred immediately grinned. He could feel slight unease wanting to settle in his marrow at the many mute eyes watching him from all sides, but he forcefully disregarded it, and let his mouth run off as it wished instead.

"I don't believe we have officially introduced ourselves, I'm Captain Alfred F. Jones," and then he proceeded to surprise himself (and probably everyone else present) as he extended his hand good-naturedly across the edge of the boat. "A pleasure to meet you," he titled his head a bit, still smiling, adding, "I suppose," with a small laugh.

The redheaded merman stared at him. Alfred absently thought to himself that the other was definitely justified in feeling befuddled, but no matter. If they were going to be travelling together – more or less – then he might as well try to strike up a conversation with them. Though he did notice himself watching the pale hand that came up of the water to meet his a bit more closely than what was normal.

"Iain," the redhead said. Replacing the raised eyebrow was one quirked corner of the merman's lips, making what decidedly looked like a humoured half-smile.

"Lovely weather for swimming, don't you agree Arthur?" Alfred prattled on. "And now that you are here" – here he nodded to the merman, Iain, and out across the water in general – "I'm certain you will be out there swimming by the end of the day." He sent Arthur what must have been a positively beaming smile, for the merman twitched quite violently and leaned away, from both him and Iain. The move was probably more out of instinct than anything, but it made the redhead merman frown slightly and swim closer to the boat.

"Come here, Arthur," he said, hoisting himself up a little so he had his arms across the edge, and chest pressed against the boat side. He made a grab for the smaller merman, Arthur hiccupping in fright as his wrist was seized, but he did not try to pull free. Instead, his eyes flickered between the other merpeople, Iain, Alfred and the water. From the slight move in the lower part of his cheeks it was clear he was clenching his teeth.

The older merman sighed and retracted his hand. The soft sounds from four days ago slipped from his lips again before he seemed to interrupt himself. Then again Alfred thought, what he had actually done was hard to tell as it sounded nothing like any language uttered by man.

"Take yer time," Iain said then, retreating into the water again. Alfred's eyebrows pulled together slightly. He knew for a fact that while Arthur still couldn't swim on his own, he didn't have any trouble getting into the water anymore. He glanced at the silent passenger in the longboat, letting his eyes quickly roam the figure in search of a reason for the other's suddenly so strong hesitance.

With a sharp pang he briefly wondered if the merman had somehow gotten injured four days ago, if there was something he had overlooked, something that had happened without him noticing. But then he eyed the clenched jaw, the tense shoulders and flighty eyes again and it nearly made him chuckle. He just barely managed to contain himself, settling for a small, warm smile and a soft shake of the head. Those were signs he had seen many a time before; Arthur was probably just experiencing a bit of performance anxiety at the sudden presence of his own kind, and while Alfred could sympathise, that sort of thing never hurt anyone.

"I have been wondering about something." Alfred had turned his attention to the redheaded merman again, and waited now for a reply. It came in the form of an eyebrow lifted anew, and Alfred continued. "I met you in the port of Plymouth. Was that book store truly yours?" The merman's eyes narrowed at the words.

"I dinnae kill th' former owner, if tha's whit ye're thinkin'," he said.

"So that store was rightfully yours, then? What were you doing there exactly?" Alfred leaned forwards, feeling more curious of the answer to his questions than he thought he would when first thoughtlessly addressing the issue.

Iain observed him, taking his good time, then,

"Is th' nae obvious? I was lookin' fer him." He looked directly at Arthur. "I am a merman, Captain," he continued, but a sigh was now audible in his voice, and below it, though well hidden, was… something else. His tone, which had been sharp, grew quieter, more tired. "_'Mer'_ as in th' sea. I can tell ye exactly how many vessels course th' waters o' th' whole world at this exact moment, how fast they're sailin' an' in what direction they are headed. But I have nae power over land. Had Arthur been kept captive on a ship," and now he looked back at Alfred, letting a meaningful pause linger shortly, "I could've found him in th' matter o' seconds. But on land I had ta look fer him th' slow way. I settled in tha' town after a while o' travellin', hoping I'd one day hear something."

When he didn't continue, Alfred nearly breathlessly spoke up. He hadn't before realised how much he had wondered on all of this, but now the queue of questions on his tongue seemed endless. "So how did you become human?" He shifted his weight back a bit, throwing a tilted glance at Arthur. "Or is that something all merfolk can do?" At this however, a glint appeared in Iain's eyes and the quiet, serious tone he had fallen into vanished in favour of a secretive grin, sharp canine teeth showing.

"Ye noticed me wet boots, dinnae ye?"

Alfred was about to open his mouth to respond and somehow get a more clear answer, but the redhead cut him off before he could even draw breath,

"Now come on Arthur, ye'll do fine. It's easy." Arthur visibly twitched when the attention was so abruptly returned to him. "Ye wonnae sink, 'n' if ye feel uneasy, we're here ta catch ye." Arthur frowned and Iain swam close to the boat side again.

"Come on now, wee broth," the red head crooned, adding a slight teasing edge to his voice.

Still frowning and gritting his teeth so hard the muscles at the side of his jaw protruded slightly, Arthur slowly let go of the boat edge with one hand. Iain immediately caught it and a small gasp of momentary fear escaped the younger of the two: Iain had given the hand a light tug, but then eased up again.

"Ye're safe," he assured, growing more serious again. Arthur seemed to steel himself, shoulders tense and eyes firm. Then he was in the water, and as Alfred watched, Arthur's fingers slowly pried themselves from the boat's side on Iain's request. By the loss of leverage he automatically sunk a few inches deeper in the water, lips a tight line, but he didn't making a single sound.

"I got ye," Iain said, keeping the one of Arthur's two hands that he was holding over the water surface to help keep the younger merman from sinking too far down. However, rather than keeping his eyes on Arthur, he glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Alfred. Then he smirked.

Oh. A small involuntary jerk made Alfred sit up just an ounce straighter. Had that merman just...? But Iain's attention was once again on Arthur, thoroughly behaving as if the former two seconds had not taken place at all.

A sudden splash had Alfred's focus dart back to Arthur just in time to see the sandy haired merman tense and lunge forwards, the fin of his tail coming up and messily breaking the surface as he latched onto the boat edge with his free hand again. His eyes were wide, but unseeing, breath short and shallow.

"Well done," Iain said, the sound of his voice pulling Arthur out of his moment of shock. The younger merman nodded slightly, his knuckles, which had been pearly white where he gripped the boat edge again, getting some of their original colour back.

"Tha' was very good. Ye'll be swimmin' on yer oon soon," Iain continued to assure the other. And he was right, it _was_ well done. Arthur had let go and floated in the water for several seconds before he lost his nerve. Even though he had been holding onto Iain's hand and the whole thing was over in half a minute, it was still a big step forwards. Arthur had indeed done very well. Alfred should be bouncing with joy. Yet instead he was sitting with a slight furrow between his brows; he couldn't get the red head's brief smirk out of his head, and something was stirring in his chest. It irked him.

Alfred's eyebrows twitched minutely upwards in surprise at the realisation. That self-assured – to put it bluntly; _cocky –_ look had _irked _him. Very well then. If that red haired merman wished to challenge him, he would pick up the gauntlet that had been thrown down.

"Yes, you really did well, Arthur," he smiled, the sandy haired merman glancing over at him. "I'm proud of you," Alfred continued, grinning warmly, and Arthur's face pulled into a light frown accompanied by fidgeting, and flickering eyes.

"And I-" Alfred interrupted himself by looking up. "What was that?" He leaned his weight forward in a preparation of standing, looking fixedly up at the ship in front of them.

"What is it?" Arthur followed his gaze automatically.

"I thought I heard someone call for me," Alfred stood, shielding his eyes from the sun, squinting – and overall made a good impression of searching the vessel; light confusion drizzled on top to complete his act.

The cheerful waves of the ocean, although calmer as they were right on the ship's tail and sailing very slowly, were more than sufficient. Alfred's sea legs were beyond and above experienced enough to withstand the longboat's motions with ease, but it was not hard to fake slight surprise, pretend one wave caught him just unprepared enough, struggle a split second for balance and then lose his footing.

He fell to the side, hand catching the boat edge, slipping, hip bumping into the edge as well as he went overboard. It did hurt a bit, the hit having been unintentional, but then there was cold water all around and everything else was washed away.

Just as he went under a startled exclaim reached his ears before it was drowned out by bubbles rushing in tight streams around his head as he sunk, the force of the water immediately gripping him and ripping him around. For a short moment, he lost all sense of up and down, though it did not frighten him. Instead, he kept still, watching the air bubbles ascent with trained ease and regained his bearings.

Looking up at the sparkling underside of the surface, and while the air current of bubbles streaming from his clothes could still camouflage it, he let out every bit of his breath, thus making sure he kept sinking.

By now he knew he had to be quite a few feet away from the longboat already, a distance which was steadily growing. Expertly disregarding his protesting lungs as he remained submerged, he idly analysed that he should have taken off his coat as it was going to be heavy on the poor merman.

Then, in that thick, muffled version of sound travelling through water, he heard a splash. Then there were frantic fingers grazing his face before grabbing a clumsy handful of his coat right by the shoulder and pulling him back and upwards. Another hand shot under his opposite arm, nearly slamming into place across his chest, and then he was jerked more forcefully upwards.

His head broke the surface and he heard himself gasp and sputter water, only half an act. The force of their ascent had briefly lifted them a bit over the surface and he sucked in a quick breath before gravity got into play again and water pressed against his face.

All of this had happened in the matter of seconds.

Alfred's head remained in an unsteady state of shifting between being in the air and being submerged as his saviour struggled to keep them – mainly him – afloat. Alfred could hear him gasp and make small sounds of distress and hard struggle as he fought the water. It almost made the captain feel guilty for what he had done. However, at the same time, he felt ecstatic.

Because of the inconstant state of his head, the world varied between sounding dimmed and heavy, and light and sharp. He could hear the merman's tail occasionally break the surface uncontrolledly, the splash as it uncoordinatedly went down, and the surge of air pulled down with it.

Then his head hit something hard, making him wince, and as he sunk further down he realised it must have been the wooden side of the long boat. One of the hands let go of him, the sound of wet skin against wood following, leading to reason that the merman had grabbed a hold of the boat edge. As water licked at his eyelids and forehead, the arm still on him pulled him upwards and he came into contact with the wood again. The impact was a tad gentler this time, but still held the harsh quality of distressed hurry. Alfred tried fumbling blindly backwards with his hands to get a hold of the boat to pull himself up, but he was still too low in the water.

The merman was pressing against his side, huffing and groaning as he overexerted quivering muscles, trying to heave the captain further up. Every now and again, slithering against his legs, Alfred could feel the powerful strokes of the tail keeping them afloat.

Air puffed across his forehead as the merman gave a short growl of frustration, then two hands were on him again. They rocked for a moment with the motion of the water, then Alfred was suddenly pushed upwards at the height of a wave, the merman at the same time pushing himself underwater as a counterweight.

It was a move done with a bundled up burst of energy. Alfred's lower back banged against the boat edge, but he leaned back in time and toppled over and into the wooden cradle. He stayed in the curved belly of the boat for several moments, spitting water and focusing on breathing: only half pretending.

But, Arthur had swam on his own. He had dived into the water, away from the safety of the boat, or any hand, and even managed to drag Alfred back. Still working on getting his regular breathing pattern back, the captain was on the verge of laughing out loud with glee. After all this time, after all the trips down to the ocean surface in the longboat, they had finally done it.

When he looked up however, he was suddenly glad he had not expressed his joy after all; thundering green eyes awaited him.

"What sort of_ idiocy_ was that?! I thought captains were given their status because they were at least a little more capable than ordinary, clumsy humans!"

Alfred was more than a little baffled. He blinked rapidly and opened his mouth, but much like a fish no sound came from it, so he closed it again. The practically fuming merman did not seem to notice at all.

"You humans are not built for water, _you could have drowned_!" The reserved timidity that he normally seemed to prefer to coat his words and actions in was gone. Still perplex, Alfred began gradually sitting up.

"Arthur," he started slowly. "I know how to swim."

"In calm water, yes, that might be, but in the middle of the _bloody ocean_? For hours!? The waves never rest – you would have _drowned_, damned you! You of all people should know better than to stand up in a small boat. I have heard the warning repeated many times enough to deduce that a mere _child_ knows better! Is that why you are a captain even for your young human age? Because all the other captains before you displayed the same utter _foolishness_ as you just did? I certainly can't see the valour in being a captain if it means you're too bloody busy hunting petty criminals and condemning innocent individuals to death that you have no thought capacity left to spare for common sense!"

The merman's voice seemed to all but echo in the pin-drop silence that followed; the volume of his voice during the short monologue only making the stillness now reigning that much quieter.

Alfred was dumbstruck. His eyes were wide with bafflement and his lips slightly parted in a pure loss. But not even a second after the last word left Arthur's mouth did a fierce blush spread with a pang across his cheeks.

For several minutes – or hours, it seemed –, neither of them said anything. Then, in favour of the silence, though there remained a lightly surprised tint in his eyes, Alfred said with a lopsided, small smile; "So you are capable of proper outrage after all. Well, that's a relief to know."

There was a definite teasing quality to his voice, and it made Arthur perplexed open his mouth, huff, then close it again, cross his arms and glare in another direction. But even so, as Alfred still grinned, there had been complete sincerity to his words as well; it was in truth a relief to see that all those countless years in captivity maybe didn't retain such a strong hold on him after all.

"I'm tired," Arthur muttered at last. "I want to go back, I'm hungry."

Alfred nodded, grin easing into a more relaxed expression. "Very well. You made a lot of progress today; I suppose it is time to go. We will resume his tomorrow if you feel up to it." He glanced at the red head who gave a wordless consent. Briefly it looked like he was about to say something as well, Alfred's eyes catching the starting signs of an inhale, but then he must have changed his mind for he remained silent. Instead, he reached out and nudged his younger brother, roughly at first before smoothing over into gentler caresses, however, meanwhile, his gaze slid up to lock with Alfred's.

The captain realised then, with no regret, that he had probably just caused the beginning of a two-man war.

* * *

><p>There had been a sound of dismay from Arthur as he was lifted out of the longboat by Alfred and the navigator, though it really had been too low for anyone but the captain to hear it. He had tried offering up a smile and a light squeeze as he linked his arms around the merman's torso. All he had received in return however was a scowl.<p>

Not a word had been exchanged as they crossed the deck, entered the cabin and slid Arthur into the tank.

Now the navigator had gone, having saluted briefly before closing the door behind him. Privacy had finally been granted them and Alfred sighed, rolling his head slightly from side to side to relieve some exhaust from his neck. "Honestly Arthur, there is no need for worry, so just calm down. I knew you would save me, I was never in any danger." He shrugged off his coat, draping it across the back of his chair. Upon turning toward the merman however, a frown was called to his face at the sight that met him.

"Arthur, what's w-"

"You '_knew'_ I would save you?" Arthur's face was as frozen over, wide-eyed disbelief carved in stone. But even for its stillness, Alfred suddenly got the distinct impression there was something brewing right underneath the pale skin. It nearly made him take a step back as his insides and muscles began coiling, as though he was a spring, much like he would when finding himself at the sharp end of a blade. However, the force with which he was stared at kept him still, sucking him in and working against his own instinctive desire to back away.

"You mean to say," the merman said slowly, his voice the pure picture of befuddlement, "that you stood up – that you fell overboard, on purpose?"

A feeling of foreboding too strong for comfort, hang tightly around Alfred's gut, but there was really nothing else to say, so with watchful eyes he admitted to the truth. The still emotion that had wrapped around the merman shattered in a million pieces.

"_Is there no end to you stupidity_? You _foolish child_! Whether or not I would have gotten you aside, do you not understand that you just put yourself in an extremely vulnerable position? That was my family_, _the_ merpeople_, that were surrounding you! And while it is true that you practically saved my life and that they are on peaceful terms with you _at the moment_, do not confuse that with even the smallest form of loyalty. One good deed does not erase centuries of distrust and slaughter. It would demand little next to no effort from them to keep your men from noticing what had happened, and leave you to drown!"

Alfred did not answer right away. Arthur's glare was nearly glowing, and he was gripping the tank edge with whitening hands, his whole stature tense as he held himself slightly lifted in the water. His breath was shallow and ragged, and even as he briefly closed his eyes, tilting his head back to blindly turn his frustration to the ceiling, there was a light tremble in his frame.

Alfred had not thought this far. He had not even taken into consideration what Arthur had just pointed out, or at all thought of what the merman's reaction would be. Now he was glued to the floor, standing stiffly with his hands on the back of his chair, cold uncertainty spreading from his numb toes and creeping up his legs. The merman's head dropped back down and Alfred was pierced by venomous green again.

But that was not all, and what he saw made his heart beat slightly faster and a soft frown pulled ever so slightly at his face; there was the smallest biting of the inside of a quivering lip, eyebrows pointing a little more upwards than they should when portraying a proper furious grimace.

"Look, I'm," Alfred opened and closed his mouth once before finding his voice after the two first words just spilled from his lips without his consent. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to put you in an uncomfortable position, or to tease you in any way. But I did sincerely never doubt you and I am honestly so proud of what you did." Slowly, his hands slid off the chair. The merman remained as he was, rigid, eyes staring, and Alfred stepped gently forwards, keeping his eyes on the other.

He stopped right next to the tank, looking down at the merman who had slid deeper into the water again. But he was still clutching the edge, and Alfred reached out and so very, very gently, skin just barely touching, let his fingers run from a hand and gingerly down the fore arm.

"I'm sorry if I scared you."

It was nothing but a whisper. For a few soundless moments, their eyes locked. The emerald green gazing back at him seemed to expand, filling his vision, shutting out the rest of the world – a world that Alfred suddenly realised was so insignificant anyway that he didn't care, and he let it suck him in.

He let himself sink deeper, though at the same time, he did not lose himself. If anything, he felt surprisingly clear and aware of his own body. He could feel his feet firm on the wooden floor, one hand hanging relaxed by his sides, the easy curve of his neck keeping his head up. He could feel how gravity pulled at him, anchoring him securely but not uncomfortably to the floorboards.

Submerging deeper and deeper into the green, other sensations began softly flitter into him, and almost like a voice or sound coming from far away he thought he could just feel, or sense, the soft echo of confusion and uncertainty. It sifted into him, floating alongside his own emotions, though not merging. He got the urge to ease these feelings, to soothe them away, and he pushed gently on, only meeting meak resistance that quickly enough gave way as he let the emerald envelope him entirely.

"You did well, Arthur," his voice was so quiet he barely heard it himself. "Nothing happened to me, I'm safe. I'm sorry." He rubbed tender circles into the pale skin of the slender fore arm under his hand. "I got ahead of myself, I'm sorry."

There was another silent pause shared between them, breached when another voice spoke in reply to Alfred's.

"Don't belittle me."

Alfred's laugh that followed bade the world return into focus around them, and the captain pulled back a little, grinning widely. The words had briefly surprised him at first, but now he could only feel mirth bubble inside his chest as he looked at the merman.

"You are obviously in perfect health," the merman carried on, pulling back a bit as well, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring in another direction. Though if anything, it only made the captain laugh even more. He shook his head lightly, winking when he caught a glared glance thrown his way.

"Well, all that aside, I am happy you are so concerned for my wellbeing."

If someone had been listening outside the door, they would have heard a hollow thump and the steady laughter of the captain for several minutes. Eventually it died down and outside the evening rolled in over the ship, men filed off for their meal, none aware of what was going on behind the closed doors of the captain's cabin.

A snicker still remaining on his lips accompanied by a glint in his eyes, arms crossed in a relaxed self-hug, as he watched Arthur. The stillness of the evening seeped comfortably into his bones; the wind was steady, the waves were playing on their side, and the air was still lukewarm from a sunny day. He let his eyes take in the full sight of the merman, the damp sandy locks falling in jagged sweeps, clinging half to his scalp, the outline of rounded ears, the neck and shoulders still bearing signs of malnutrition. He felt a small poke of sadness at that, but then he chuckled silently to himself at the flush tainting the other's cheeks. The laughter eased away, and replacing it was a soft, warm feeling filling him as he continued to gaze at the merman. He could feel it, nearly like an internal hug, and feeling so at peace he leaned into the sensation in absent curiosity.

It responded by engulfing him with such force that he for a moment lost sight of his surroundings. It rushed through him like a pulse of heat, feeling almost like- a shiver ran across his skin and he pushed it, whatever it was, away.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

**I'm so sorry. I started university, I have 42 hours of school every week with a mountain of homework added to that. And sleep. And food. I just don't have time to myself anymore. q—q But I hope you enjoyed, and I hope I haven't lost all of you. **

**FANART! :D** colorslive com / details/430482 **this piece is just so cool, you can actually watch the drawing process, and the colours are just so beautiful. **

sunnybluesea tumblr com / image/32665998664

sunnybluesea tumblr com / image/32666886175 **her drawings are just amazing. My trustworthy reader! **

**Arthur recited Shakespeare, Julius Ceasar, act 1 scene 2. **

**(This chapter wasn't betaed either. I think my beta left me. Oh well, just bear over with me and my mistakes, please? ^^; ) **


	14. Chapter 14

One, two, three, slight pause, four-five, six, seven… Alfred could see Arthur's tail out of the corner of his eye, bobbing softly up and down; the merman himself seemingly unaware. …Eight, nine, ten… Alfred fought the urge to groan. He was supposed to be doing work, but instead all his mind appeared to be able to focus on was the merman in the tank, and his tail, bobbing – eleven – up and down – twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifte-

Alfred drew his eyes back to the documents on his desk with great effort. But that he had at last managed to focus his gaze on the black markings on his white pieces of paper didn't make much of a difference either way; he still couldn't make sense of any of it, even after several minutes. It felt like déjà vu, as this was far from the only time it had happened in the last few days, and each time he found it harder and harder to maintain focus.

The need to groan grew stronger in his throat and a rough edge of frustration would have coloured it had he let it out. But for all the pressure that had built, feeling like a bomb in the back of his mouth ready to explode, all he had to do to diffuse it was glance to the left. He didn't want to disturb Arthur.

In the beginning, he hadn't been consciously aware of what he was doing. However, when he went out of his way to make no sound while rearranging a couple documents he noticed just how stiffly he was actually sitting. It reminded him of how he as a child would freeze in the backyard of his mother's house if a bird happened to land nearby; how he would be hoping for all the world it would not fly away again. Fantasizing that it was secretly keeping him company. His family always said that he could never sit still for long at a time – they should have seen him in those moments.

He smiled fondly at the memory, wondering briefly how his brother was doing. Then a frown began forming between his brows. He did not want to disturb Arthur. Of course, he was always quiet out of politeness when Arthur read, but for the last couple of hours he had been doing his damnedest best to convince the world he was not there at all. That very same tense anxiousness that the bird would fly away if he made the smallest of movements sat heavily in his core. But there was no bird there, only Arthur. Alfred had not been like this before, either. It was not making sense at all.

The captain stared down at his hands, his forehead deeply furrowed.

A small movement caught in his peripheral vision had all other thoughts blown away in an instant. Alfred turned in his chair, the merman the sole target of his attention. What he saw however, made him stare, baffled, and for a moment he sat motionless in his surprise. This a warm smile spread on his face and he couldn't help a soft chuckle.

Arthur, who had been reading undisturbed for hours, heard this and snapped his head up. His misty green eyes, glossy with emotion, caught the captain's, and the merman immediately flushed a deep red.

"What are you reading?" Alfred asked curiously. "It must be quite the story, to render you in such a –" he tilted his head slightly and his eyes glittered with mirth, though not in a nasty way, "– _state_."

"It's nothing of that sort!" Arthur snapped. "And I'm not in a '_state'._ I have just been above water for too long." He rubbed furiously at his eyes, having discarded the script he had been reading by dropping it to the floor, and glared at the edge of the tank. "Do human eyes never dry out from being exposed to air all your lives?"

Alfred did not answer, only snickered again. With an indignant huff and still burning cheeks, the merman ducked underwater. Alfred just shook his head, still laughing, and glanced down at his work. His sounds of glee turned into a sigh and he decided he might as well face it; he could stare at his papers all day and it would not make a difference. He finally landed on a decision and made up his mind.

"What do you think? Should we go out and get some fresh air?" the captain said, leaning one forearm on the backrest, both feet planted squarely on the floor in a ready position. "I believe I could do with some change of scenery." He smiled lopsidedly, and even before the merman replied he had gotten out of the chair and stretched. Yes, some fresh air would do him good. It would clear up his head and set his mind straight; he had just been sitting inside for too long, that was all.

Arthur's head jerked up. He fidgeted a bit in the tank, gaze darting from Alfred to the door – the moment just seconds ago clearly forgotten in the face of a dip in the ocean.

The truth was that the little stunt Alfred had pulled had somehow made something fall into place in Arthur's head, or his instinct, or his _somewhere_. Two days had passed since then and he was noticeably calmer than he had previously been. On the other hand, the trip down to the water itself still made him wring his hands nervously and twitch at every sound. Alfred couldn't make out if it was the initial shyness at meeting his own kind that was rekindled every time, or if he had still not gotten used to the human crew. After observing him, Alfred concluded that it was probably a mix of both.

"Come now, you've gotten so much better. You're making great progress," Alfred said encouragingly and went for the door. Halfway there he stopped, turning back to throw a last look at the merman. "Fret not; I will stay with you like always. I'll protect you," he winked, enjoying how Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes before shooing him away with one hand. Alfred's laughter pealed through the air as he went outside to fetch someone to help him get ready for the daily swimming lesson.

* * *

><p>A total of one and a half weeks passed– 10 days, to be precise, Alfred figured when he paged through his captain's log. They were 10 exceptionally unexceptional days –well, relatively, taking into consideration the fact that the ship was being practically <em>escorted<em> by merpeople. The days mainly consisted of Alfred spending hours upon hours in a longboat, watching Arthur grow increasingly accustomed to what, to a human eye, looked like a bottomless ocean.

When they were not outside getting wet – and cold on Alfred's end –, Alfred was either behind the wheel or in his cabin doing this and that and having sailors frequently report in, as was their job. Meanwhile, Arthur read.

By the fourth day, Alfred wondered if his joints would last since he had been spending so much time wet and cold in a small wooden boat. After the merfolk came, they had spent a lot more time swimming than when it had been just Arthur and him. Yet, despite his growing aches, he somehow could not make himself return to the ship whilst the merman was practicing.

Day five itself had been little different from the others, but still good. Arthur had begun to properly let go of the longboat the last few days and was now swimming several feet behind the boat for long periods at a time. It was, however, always for less than an hour and he was never further away than what Alfred guessed to be about seventy feet. Even so, it was an enormous step forwards and both he and Iain were quite impressed. Not that the older merman had ever said that out loud, but Alfred was at least able to gather_ that _much by stealing glances at him. During the little swims, Iain was rarely far behind, mostly staying between one or two feet away from the younger merman. Literally.

The captain groaned, a few bones popping tiredly in his back as he stretched. Grimacing to himself, he got up from his chair, rolling his stiff shoulders as he did so. Over in the tank, Arthur had fallen asleep. His head was nestled atop one arm on the edge and the play he had been reading laying a few inches from his face, one of his hands resting on it. His hair had dried and was poking out hither and thither in light disarray, his torso moving slowly with every peaceful breath.

Alfred huffed a chuckle, crossing the floor to look down at the sleeping figure. Now standing close, he could just barely hear the gentle, whistling sound of air passing through the merman's slightly parted lips. Hands in his pockets, Alfred remained there, just watching, just taking in the sight. Only a couple weeks ago, Arthur would have woken up long before the other man had taken even one single step toward him, but now here he was, fast asleep. The captain shook his head fondly and reached out a hand to gently sift his fingers through soft hair. A small sound of sleep escaped Arthur, but he did not wake.

When he left to step outside, it was with great reluctance, for, had it been up to Alfred, he would have stayed where he was. He doubted, however, that Arthur would be too happy waking up to him brushing through his hair. Really, that merman was such a characterAlfred grinned to himself, the chill air of the night greeting him at the door. The cool caresses across his skin seemed to sweep away part of his aches, refreshing him in his weariness.

His legs carried him up to the helm where he stopped to stand next to the serious Eska. Alfred had his hands linked behind his back, half watching the helmsman out of the corner of his eye and half watching the sailors on guard duty scattered across the deck below. Some of them were slowly pacing, others standing still, and while he could still see remnants of stress in their movements, their tension at having the merpeople so close had nearly disappeared. He was certain that would change, were the merpeople to poke their heads out of the water again, but for now only Iain came to the ship while the rest stayed out of sight. When a man can no longer see the threat for a while, he is lulled into an imaginary sense of security …but that was best for now, Alfred supposed.

"It's a good night, Captain," the helmsman said, breaking the silence. Alfred felt himself automatically tilting his head back a bit, viewing the dull grey clouds above, the colour too indistinct to see where clouds ended and sky began, the twinkle of stars peeking out here and there the only visual sign to go by.

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, it is."

Then silence sank back down around them as they continued to stand there, side by side, keeping eye on the ship, the ocean, and the world. Between them lived the memory of long years at sea together, in hardship and good weather, the captain and his helmsman, an unending well of equal trust and respect for each other.

In the end, Alfred put his hand on the helmsman's shoulder, patting it once before heading back down the stairs and to his cabin. The mental image of Arthur sleeping in the tank brought a small smile to his lips, and he thought he would have to ease the merman back into the water before he too went to sleep. Nodding briefly to one of the sailors, he pushed open the door and let it fall shut behind him.

His heart stalled. Arthur was not the only person in the room. In the time frame of half a second, a flurry of different fights and outcomes had rushed through his mind and his hand was on the hilt of his gun. That was also as long as it took for Alfred to recognise the figure: standing where he had, not all too long ago, hand gently stroking sandy blond hair, was Iain.

The merman showed no sign of having heard him, not even briefly looking up, but there was no doubt in Alfred's mind that his presence had not gone unnoticed. Iain's hands drifted to Arthur's arms and shoulders, and with such gentle care, like a mother with her precious treasure, he lowered his brother into the water. The play was dropped to the floor, no further attention given to it – though the action was done without a sound. Iain kept his attention on the other merman, making sure he was comfortable.

All the while, Alfred had remained stuck to the floor right in front of the door. He couldn't take his eyes off the scene, even if he wanted to, but at least his hand had slipped from the gun. An uproar of incoherent feelings rushed as a freezing hot current through his body, and when he opened his mouth he didn't know how his voice was still working, but it was. The words he finally spoke, however, stumbled out without making the trip by his brain for approval.

"What are you doing here?" the amount of suspicion and caution weighing down his own voice surprised him as well as Iain, but he was stuck between finding it justified and regretting it. Either way, he prepared for a heated reaction from the merman, his muscles tensing and his jaw setting. Whether his choices of action were wise or not, he would reflect upon later.

But whatever reaction he was expecting from the merman, nothing came; Iain didn't look at him, didn't move away from the tank. He did nothing but speak, lowly and calmly. "He's mah wee broth'." In a flash, glistering green in the dull dark pierced through Alfred. The fierce enmity and challenge in the eyes would have made any other man take several steps back, but the captain held his ground. "Are ye goin' ta deny me th' right ta see mah ain brother?" Alfred did not answer, but did not move either. He held firm when Iain crossed the floor to stop mere inches from him and stared him square in the eye, soundless breath tickling across his skin.

The moment only lasted for as long as it took Alfred to take one steady inhale, then Iain was gone. Another slow inhale and the captain moved, as though nothing had happened, throwing a glance down into the tank, rearranging the play script even though no damage had been done to it, and then going straight to bed.

When the seventh day rolled around, Alfred and Iain had yet to speak a word to each other. The day before (day six), Iain had stopped tailing after Arthur in the water, instead taking up post by the little boat's side much to Arthur's distress. Despite the other's initial unease, Iain relatively quickly managed to convince his smaller brother to venture out on his own. When Arthur had hesitantly nodded, turned away from them and let the waves carry him out a bit, Iain glanced at the captain. His eyes glinted, clearly pleased with the trust Arthur put in him, and he cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly at Alfred in a most provoking and infuriating manner.

At the time Alfred had chosen to ignore this, despite his coiling innards. He was aware his pretence of not having seen the redhead was painfully obvious and only made a small smirk twitch in the corners of Iain's mouth, not making matters much better.

On the seventh day, however, he had decided that he had had enough of silence. Leaning casually on the longboat's edge, he said "So, how is it that you became a human?"

Iain lifted an eyebrow, for once taking his eyes off Arthur to glance at the captain – but only for a split second before he looked back to his brother, who was a head and shoulders bobbing in the waves not more than fifty feet away, lost in his own world. "I already told ye, _ye noticed mah wet shoes, dinnae ye."_ he said finally, distaste practically dripping off every word. He was clearly not interested in discussing the matter with Alfred – or, rather, he was not interested in discussing it with a human. Period.

Alfred didn't really care. "But there has to be more to it than that," he argued. "Or are you telling me that every merperson who puts on wet shoes becomes human?" He watched the older merman closely from the corner of his eye, the merman probably very much aware of this and very much ignoring it. He seemed, for a while, to consider ignoring Alfred all together.

But then, "Are ye a merman?" Iain suddenly said at last. Alfred's brows twitched upwards.

"No?"

"Then ye donnae need ta ken."

For the next few minutes, Iain continued to blatantly ignore him, even though Alfred had abandoned his sideways peering and was full on looking at him. In the end, though, the captain had to admit defeat and gave up, turning his attention to the sandy haired merman instead.

Three days later, day nine, was a day of great joy, for that had been the day Arthur had swum under the ship. Afterwards, emboldened by his own success, he had spent many hours swimming several hundred feet away from the vessel.

So far, it had only been Alfred and Iain overseeing the younger merman's progression, _but news must travel fast underwater,_ the captain absently thought, for not long after Arthur's dive, several heads surfaced. They swam with the blond merman, sometimes circling him, other times just floating alongside him. No sounds reached Alfred across the water, but when one of them leapt up into the air, he could only assume they were thrilled.

It had taken him by surprise, a body suddenly fully breaching the surface, sailing through the air in a lazy arch. It was a sunny day, of the kind a sailor likes the most with a fresh, strong breeze and only a few, white clouds in the sky. The mermaid's scales caught the sunlight, making them flash and almost come alive in a myriad of twinkling colours. She seemed to linger in the air, floating, as though gravity only applied to humans and other lowly creatures. Her long hair glistened, water droplets creating a veil of dainty crystals trailing her tail, and her naked breasts made her a figure of unearthly perfection. So graceful to the background of messily tumbling waves, it was, for those seconds it lasted, a surreal image of absolute beauty Alfred would never forget.

They did not return to the ship until the sun was dipping toward the horizon and Alfred's shoes – and the rest of his garment, really – were soaked straight through for spending the majority of the day in the small boat. Still, he could not find it in him to be bothered about this in the least, not when Arthur was practically glowing where he sat next to him in the boat, barely able to keep still. He kept throwing longing glances down at the water, making Alfred grin. But he didn't say anything until they were safely behind the doors of his cabin, and neither did Arthur.

Once inside, Alfred had Toris bring him four of Arthur's favourite fish; they had to celebrate. When the seafood had been served, the door closed, and Alfred dressed in dry clothes, Arthur simply could not hold it any more. Words tumbled from his mouth in a fight for the right to come first, eager descriptions of the feel of the water many feet below compared to that close to the surface, and just how incredible it had _felt_ swimming under the ship. The water was like cool silk caressing him, so still in comparison to what he had been swimming in until then, and so much more _alive_ than what he had been living in all his life. It was a completely different world down there, he had hardly graced but the farthest outskirts of it and yet he was already overwhelmed. He only wished tomorrow would come faster, and Alfred laughed heartily.

"I'm envious," he said, shaking his head with a wide grin. "This lady here is the closest I can get to that," and he tapped the floorboards lovingly with his foot.

Arthur regarded him in silence for a little while, then said, "When I become strong enough, I'll bring you something from the bottom."

Alfred blinked surprised, but then he chuckled and softened his smile. "Thank you. I'd like that."

Their talk continued, though calmer now, and finally died away completely as Alfred went to bed. When morning came, he woke to the sight of Arthur reading and wondered briefly if the merman had slept at all. He made a move to get out of bed, but at the first sound of fabric against fabric, Arthur straightened in the tank, lowered the play and fixed anticipating eyes on the captain. Alfred couldn't help but snicker at the sight, and, swinging his legs out of bed, he said, "All right, it's a new day. Are you ready?"

The script was immediately discarded to the floor – though for all Arthur's eagerness, he put it down with the upmost care, if still quickly. Alfred got dressed to the sound of impatiently lapping water and then they embarked on day ten.

* * *

><p>Alfred picked the scripted play up from the floor. James had helped him get Arthur back in the tank; the sun already low on the horizon, supper having just been consumed. "What play is this?" he asked, flipping through the pages as he did so and stopping at a random one. Instead of waiting for Arthur to speak however, he chose the first line his eyes fell on and read them out loud; testing them, as though to see if they might answer his question.<p>

"_As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek_."

The room was silent as Alfred reread the few couple of lines, and the few ones above them, as he had begun in the middle of a paragraph.

"Romeo and Juliet," Arthur muttered when the captain was done. "Romeo is speaking to her from below her balcony an early morning." Alfred didn't respond at first, still skimming through the page. Then he looked up, one eyebrow quirked curiously. The merman sighed at this, a hint of irritation leaking into the breathy sound. It made Alfred grin.

"_Ay me,"_ the merman grumbled. Now both the captain's brows rose. That was certainly an interesting pair of words to express annoyance, even for the emerald eyed merman. But as he made no move to react or otherwise reply, the merman fixed him with a pointed glare. This made Alfred none the wiser, so if it was done to somehow miraculously enlighten him, it was not working. The longer he stood there looking like a question mark, the more the merman's eyes seemed to ooze '_just how stupid are you?' _What did- At that moment, Alfred happened to glance down. Oh.

Arthur snorted. "I indeed hope you are not a representative specimen of your race, otherwise I simply cannot understand _how _you supposedly became the 'dominant species of the world'."

"_She speaks!_" Alfred was quick to read in retaliation, greatly exaggerating the words. _"O, speak again, bright angel." _The twinkle in the captain's eye was not to be mistaken as he spoke, especially not when accompanied by a smirk making the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a most cocky manner. _"For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air." _Arthur glared at the captain as he finished. Alfred tilted his head expectantly to one side, glancing down a little to see the words he was now waiting for – and to make sure it was actually not still his turn to speak.

_"O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"_ the merman huffed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "_Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my-" _there was the smallest stutter and hesitation in the merman's voice and his gaze flickered. Before the captain, in mild confusion, could look down to find what was supposed to come next, Arthur spoke up again. _"... My love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet." _

It was as though a switch had been flicked. The captain's smile was gone, any sensation of laidback amusement stripped from his body. He intended to stop, to not say anything more. Suddenly his pulse had begun to pick up and the same instincts that, during a storm, would keep him on high alert were sending small warning signals through his mind. He _should_ stop. However, his mouth fell open and before he could instruct his hands to put down the script, he could hear his own voice reaching out between them again. "_Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?_"

"_'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague?_" Arthur's voice was so, so soft, and his eyes that had tried to avoid the captain now returned to him. He moved soundlessly forward in the tank, gently grabbing hold of the edge. Like a child, drawn by the glittering reflection of a jewel, Alfred took no notice of his own feet moving slowly, step by hesitant step towards the water cage. "_It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man," _the merman reached out a hand, ghosting it over the captain's hair, for the human had now reached him and had dropped soundlessly to his knees in front of the tank. "_O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself._" The last words fell from the merman's mouth, close to being nothing but a whisper.

"_I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo._"

For a breathless moment, Alfred waited. From the slight unrest in his torso it would seem as though he was about to reach out and take the merman's hand in his own. But he never did. Then, the merman had pulled back, turned away, and sunk below the water to lie silently on the bottom of his enclosure.

Alfred sat, frozen, for the blink of an eye that felt an eternity longer; his brain felt as though it had been tucked in a dense blanket and was working with growing frustration to untangle itself. In the end, the struggle proved to be of no use and he gave in, leaving the haziness in his mind as it was. Turning around with a mute sigh, he sat with his back leaning against the glass of the tank. The haze in his mind was much like that clouding the brain the very last seconds before sleep, and, settling in it and no longer trying to peer through it, he found it was not entirely unpleasant. Leaning his elbows on his propped up knees like dead weight he stared into the empty space of his cabin, letting his thoughts run their own course.

Silence reigned for a long time, longer than the captain cared to find out, but not long enough for sleep to unnoticeably claim him. His thoughts flittered unhindered through his mind and he never tried to grasp for any specific one of them, only watched as though from a distance.

Once, the very fresh memory of himself and the merman surfaced – Alfred could nearly hear his own voice echoing in his ears still as it recited Shakespeare, his attention so focused on nothing else than the green eyed being before him. His thoughts wanted to go closer, to narrow in on it, to try and understand what had happened, for only confusion seemed to surface when he neared it. But he couldn't. Almost immediately, as he felt himself automatically reach for the memory to bring it closer, he pushed it away. It had been too surreal even for all that had happened after the merman came aboard. Too frightening. It had felt – it _still_ felt as though it had not been him, not been _them_ who spoke the words. He pushed it away, forced the haze to shroud it and hide it from him, and grasped and clung onto the next thought as his pulse quickened under his skin and the muscles in his core clenched.

It was not until the guard shift had been sounded outside that any sound breached the air in the big cabin. The captain's nerves had long since calmed; the memory was still nipping on the edges of his conscious thoughts, but for now, he tricked himself into believing that it was forgotten. It was he himself who broke the silence, somehow just knowing the merman wasn't asleep even though there had been no sound from him all this time. "So how is it that you never sing?" He rolled his head slightly against the glass, though still looking out into empty air. An abrupt lapping of water made the corners of his mouth twitch absently. The question had been little more than an impulse, suddenly recalling that about which he had wondered so long ago – and still did from time to time.

"I already gave you my answer," came the sharp reply.

"I know," the captain said with ease, not the least bit put off by the merman's tone. He rolled his head back to a centre position. "But humour me."

A scoff. Then another long silence. Alfred felt no need to turn around and repeat his inquiry – he knew his quiet waiting would suffice. Sure enough, when the merman felt the human wasn't going to let the matter slide, he sighed irritably, shifting in the water again. "Don't you remember when my kin first came and surrounded your ship? To you humans, singing is just something you in your naivety do for children before they sleep, or for fun. But it is so much more than that. It's a tool used when distressed or angry; when wishing to inflict injury or damage to something or someone else." His voice fell quieter. "It's more powerful than you realise."

Alfred could feel his senses sharpening, becoming alert as he tentatively asked, "Did you... never learn it?" Perhaps he had pushed too far, he didn't know, and he could feel his upper body go rigid as he waited for a reply.

Arthur just snorted. "Did someone teach you how to hear or see? It's something we are born with, an intuitive mechanism. It's merely a question of listening to the water and the winds and-" a small splash of water; probably Arthur's hand as he searched for the right words. "... Join... their harmony."

"Which, in other words, means you could have quite easily sunk this ship if you wished?" Alfred asked rather matter-of-factly, at the same time intrigued, eyebrows raised. He received no answer, which was an answer in itself. Yet despite the nature of the subject –which was really quit macabre if one thought about it–the captain wasn't feeling at all wary or alert. Instead, he still felt nothing but relaxed as he carried on, his voice probably far too casual for the next few words.

"So why didn't you?"

"I can't swim, you imbecile!"

Alfred laughed. The room practically resonated as he laughed loud, hard, and long enough for his sides to start hurting as he doubled forwards, laughing until tears almost gathered in his eyes. Behind him, the merman scoffed again and grumbled as Alfred just would not stop.

After a good long while of that, Alfred finally quieted down. He shook his head softly, rubbed his face, paused, chuckled briefly as he let his hands fall, and shook his head again. Breathing in deeply, he gave a voiced "_haa_" sigh and leaned his head back against the glass of the tank. "That certainly is a completely justified reason," he said. Giving room for a short pause, he then leaned forwards again, placed his hands on his knees, and got up from the floor with a light-hearted groan. He grimaced as he thought of how late it had to be and declared he was now going to bed. The merman snorted and shrugged in a moody _'why do you think I care?_' manner, but the captain merely grinned lopsidedly to himself.

He undressed, only wearing loose trousers and a shirt as he climbed into bed with a small noise of contentment. It would be good to sleep. Sleeping was, all in all, a very comfortable and nice activity; he gave it far too little credit and had done far too little of it as of late. A part of his mind made a mental note to remedy that. Alfred pulled the covers up high, tucking his chin into the soft fabric and closed his eyes. But he didn't sleep, not for a long while. The ocean cradled the ship and her crew, and he enjoyed the floating state right between wake and unconsciousness, taking time to drowsily reflect upon how much he truly enjoyed being at sea.

Alfred's back was to the merman, which was perhaps the cause of what happened a while later, a time span in which the captain would normally be deeply unconscious. A soft voice, nothing more than a low mutter not really meant for anyone to hear, joined the sound of the ocean's never ending whispers. "Besides, Captain, you never gave me a reason to hurt you."

There was a nearly soundless sigh, the gentle lapping of water, and a slow warmth spreading in Alfred's core. He was glad he had his back to the merman, for even with his eyes closed, he was certain his face was betraying his fake sleep.

* * *

><p>"Ye have nae right ta be angry, this isnae yer decision ta make, <em>Captain<em>." Iain spoke sharply, his eyes matching his voice.

Alfred schooled his features with great difficulty. He did his best to remain calm, to speak in a rational manner, but there had been _no_ forewarning of the news he had been given. Not the smallest clue or sign of what was about to happen. It had just crashed down on him like thunder from a clear sky; he was confused, desperately trying to gather the mess of his scattered thoughts, and it was doing no favours for his composure. "I understand that, and I am not angry. If I came across as such, I apologize." Polite and tactful, that was the way to go. It was important to stay polite and tactful. "I was just wondering if it is not too soon?"

Iain's reaction was nothing short of a snarl. "_Too soon_?" Something flared in the merman's eyes, the poison green colour clear and piercing. Even though he had been on the receiving end of it rather frequently lately, it still made Alfred want to back away. But he didn't. He remained sitting calmly, appearing unfazed despite the turmoil on the inside. Iain was not done. "He has been kept from us practically his entire life, 'n' ye're sayin' it's _too soon_?"

Alfred's lips were a tight, white line - though only for a brief moment. He pulled in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "That's not what I mean-" but Iain would not give him time to finish. He fixed the captain with a steely stare, and said, firmly and coolly,

"He's swimmin' now. Whit he has yet ta learn requires him ta git oot there."

It was true. Arthur was swimming just fine on his own now, braving the waters alone and basking almost fearlessly until he was exhausted. His sole problem was strength, and only time could help him with that. Alfred had a sinking feeling in his chest, but he swallowed it and opened his mouth to retort. However, just then, Arthur's head popped up over the boat edge, dripping with water, and joy – which he was only half-heartedly trying to conceal – dancing in his eyes. He brushed his bangs out of his face and hung onto the boat's side. Alfred's words died in his mouth.

"Hello, wee broth', good ta see ye havnae drowned yet," Iain greeted in a teasing tone, all his aggression from split seconds before gone. Flicking the younger merman on the forehead, he made Arthur grumble and glare darkly. Iain ignored this completely, knowing it was a bark with no bite, and adjusting his position against the boat a little. He watched Arthur rub his forehead, and his face relaxed into a more serene expression. "I'm proud o' ye, Arthur."

It was as though a spear had been run straight through Alfred's middle. He knew by the way Arthur's eyes lit up, wide and shimmering, a light blush spreading across his cheeks and his mouth creating a small "o", that there was nothing he could do then to change what was going to happen. Iain knew it as well. That night only four days ago, when Arthur had muttered, thinking Alfred to be asleep, which was still clear in Alfred's mind, suddenly felt so far away. Iain had played his strongest card and it was check mate for the human captain.

"Ye're ready ta ga home."

* * *

><p>Alfred stood at the helm, both hands on the wheel, staring out across the vast grey blue of the ocean. A small swim away from the ship, he could see the assembly of merpeople getting ready to leave. Only their heads were above water, and from where he stood, with the afternoon sky shrouded in grey clouds, they were barely more than round shadows bobbing in the waves. Their wet hair gave them an ever so slight sheen. Alfred knew exactly which one was Arthur. The water made the younger merman's tousled hair hang down and the distance made him indistinguishable from the dozens of others, but there was no doubt in Alfred's mind and his eyes never strayed from that one little blob.<p>

He didn't know for how long they floated like that, seemingly at the mercy of the ocean – though a single note from their throats would turn that around quickly enough – his hands steering the ship without any help from his brain. He wondered if Arthur was nervous. He wondered if he, deep inside, was still scared of going down, down, down and far away. Alfred's jaw clenched tight, his eyes hard as he continued staring out at them, but he didn't notice any of this himself. He didn't notice the quartermaster either, who had climbed up three fourths of the stairs to the helm, caught sight of his captain's face, and silently gone back down to the deck.

_Alfred couldn't sleep – ah well, some things never changed, it seemed. He had tried lying on his side, then on his belly with his face burrowed in his pillow until breathing was nearly impossible, and now he was just emptily gazing up at the ceiling. He wondered if Arthur was asleep. _

"_Ye have ta let him ga." _

_Alfred barely twitched. There had been no warning, yet he couldn't find any spare energy to be surprised. But ah, that answered his last question. Iain would never come in to talk to him if Arthur was awake._

_Nothing was said for a little while and Alfred didn't move. He knew what to expect if he did, his inner eye painting a painfully clear image of penetrating green eyes observing him from the foot of his bed. When it became clear he didn't intend to contribute to the conversation, Iain continued. "We willnae return. I dinnae ken whit ye did ta him, ta make him have such a...positive…attitude towards ye, but he has nae place here."_

_Alfred felt strangely empty inside. Even so, he made a last effort at reasoning, but his voice, which something told him would have made more sense heated, was strangely void of emotion. "Should he not be allowed to decide that for himself?" He wondered what they had told Arthur after Iain had asked Alfred to leave and all those silent, blank faces had surfaced. He wondered what Arthur had said, why Arthur hadn't said anything to him afterwards. The rest of the day he had just been quiet and distant, with that frequent glint suddenly lighting up his eyes and making Alfred's gut clench. _

_Iain shot him straight down. "Whit can ye offer him? Can ye tell me exactly whit will happen ta him when ye reach land?" An uncomfortable taste started creeping up the back of Alfred's throat. He had no answer. "Tomorrow, we will leave, and ye will do naething ta trick him ta stay. Whether it be a sense o' debt or just pure nervousness tha' makes him hesitant ta leave, ye will wish him all luck 'n' let him ga." _

Alfred had done as he was told; he had smiled, acted excited, and even had a conversation with Arthur, as the longboat was made ready, about all the things he would get to see and the general wonders of the sea. Alfred did not know how Arthur felt. He had not asked. Maybe Arthur was not scared or nervous at all, maybe he was excited. Maybe he was longing for the spacious water to properly embrace him and to reclaim it as his home. As they had been lowered down to the water, the memory of Arthur's success on the ninth day had loomed over Alfred, and it had frustrated him that he now suddenly hated that day. He had plastered a wide grin on his face. "You will do fine," he said reassuringly, patting Arthur on the back right before he slipped into the water. Alfred then saluted him cheerfully, Arthur rolling his eyes at him but mockingly returning the gesture.

_"Good bye, Arthur, take care of yourself." _

Those were the exact words he had said. As his knuckles turned white around the steering wheel, he strangled the little voice in his head telling him how he wished he hadn't, that there was something else he could have said instead. He pulled in a sharp breath, steeling his glare. There was just one reason he was feeling agitated, and that reason was that his work had been made harder now. He had no criminal pub keeper to hand over to the authorities and no mythical creature to show for his efforts. How incredibly frustrating after weeks and months of hard work trying to catch the man. His spotless streak of successful missions would receive a severe dent.

Out on the grey blue ocean, distant heads of slick, glittering hair disappeared under the surface and out of sight. The little blob that was Arthur never once looked back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Alright, so…. <strong>_**I am severely, heavily and incredibly sorry! **_**I know this chapter has taken forever, and I feel so bad for it you have no idea. ;_; My only excuse is university. **

**I really wanted to give you a chapter quickly, I did! I always do! But… I failed… and I hope you can forgive me. I can't promise it won't happen again, but I can promise you **_**this story will be finished**_**. I have the last few scenes written out and everything. Teenage Mouse, ****Liung Arkeanda, I truly hope I haven't lost you as readers, or any of the rest of you amazing, wonderful people. **

**2.**** This chapter hasn't been betaed (I simply don't have time or patience to find a new one), so if you see any mistakes, please tell me. **

**3.**** What Alfred and Arthur were reading/reciting was Romeo and Juliet, act 2 scene 2. **

**(P.S: to you who added me to a new community the 30th of Dec. thank you! :D This story has been added to 3 communities now, and to me that's a great honour).**

**EDIT: Betaed by StarrNight, who is simply **_**amazing!**_** :D **


	15. Chapter 15

It was like being on a different planet. Amidst everything that had happened, he had nearly forgotten how his crew used to behave, what they used to be like before all of this had taken place. The reversion had happened gradually, so much that the captain didn't actually notice at first. It was not until two days later, as he stood by the wheel, that it hit him like a punch straight to the face.

Merry shouts and calls could be heard through the wind, short commands and affirmations, casual inquiries and answers crisscrossing the deck below him. All in all, two days were not actually so much time, so in that respect, the change had perhaps been rather quick. But, whether it was because the captain had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts, or because of some other factor, the main fact still stood as thus: he had not noticed it before the change had already happened.

Captain Alfred Jones stood at the helm, looking down in perplexity at a scene that was so close to what it would have been many weeks ago that, had it not been for the memories still fresh in his mind, he could have been fooled to believe they had never taken aboard a merman at all.

He sighed. He supposed he should be happy, if not for himself then at least for them. But as he recovered from his surprised realisation, he found he couldn't partake in his crew's joy, no matter how much common sense told him he should rejoice in their spirited faces and light footsteps. Another issue was weighing heavily on him, and as long as it was not resolved he couldn't keep from bitterly clenching his teeth and staring off to the horizon with a thoughtful grimace. It would still be quite a while until they landed back in the colonies, but the sooner they could find a solution to this issue, the better. Two days had passed and he had already dragged it out for too long. Swiftly scanning the deck again, Alfred called out,

"Quartermaster!"

His strong voice carried with ease through the healthy winds and a man on the level below looked up. He gave a quick word to the sailor closest to him, whom he had been busy talking to, before turning and appearing up on the helm not long after.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I need James, Michael and Gervase up here now."

"Yes Captain. Right away, sir."

On an ordinary ship, the navigator, boatswain and physician would not be the ones the captain relied on for council, but out on the waves no one could correct Alfred on how he ran his crew. In times of crisis, these three, in addition to the quartermaster, had always been the men he had trusted and depended on, and that was not to about to change now. The fact that two of these people had not come back to join him when the merfolk had first arrived and the confrontation on the deck had taken place did not matter.

A few minutes later, the four selected men stood at the top of the stairs, facing their Captain in a ready, attentive stance. Normally, the helmsman would also be among them, but at the moment he was asleep and Alfred did not wish to disturb him.

"As you are all aware, the merpeople have left."

None of them said a word.

"I realise this is reason for relief for you as well as for the rest of the crew."

Again, they said nothing. No words of confirmation, no words of intervention. They knew the captain was only summing up what they knew, and so they kept quiet, waiting.

"However, it is also the cause of a great problem. We were sent to England to retrieve a notorious criminal who is to blame for many swindles and the loss of great sums of money. This man is now dead. He is, in fact, more than dead; he is in little bits and pieces, and hardly even that – and more importantly, his remains rest on the bottom of the ocean. And now, as fate would have it, we have no merman to show for our efforts either."

The four men nodded slowly, glancing briefly between themselves. Gervase, being the oldest, spoke first.

"Well, Captain, I am certain the authorities will believe us when they are informed of what happened. They know you never perform less than admirably, so that we don't have an actual body to deliver will matter, I am sure, very little."

"That might be," Alfred answered, eyes locked on the waters spanning endlessly out around them, though he could see the four in his peripheral vision easily enough. "Nevertheless, even if merpeople are a very real threat to any sailor, it will be hard to prove we were indeed attacked. We have no other casualties to show, no damage done to the ship, and like I said," his hands tightened minutely on the wheel. "no merman. Even if they could be appealed to, to believe us on our word, the fact would still remain that we have no proof, and the possibility that we failed and fabricated this story to save ourselves would seem more than likely. There wouldn't be much of a push needed to turn this into a great disadvantage for us."

A silent pause followed as the men processed the words. Alfred could practically feel how apprehension filled them and he resisted the urge to groan with frustration as he, for the umpteenth time, went through the predicament in his head. But he didn't move a single muscle and only continued to stare calmly ahead.

"In the end," James said, jaws slightly clenched, "if we are unlucky, it is very likely to end up looking like we fled from a mission."

Michael nodded, then tilted his head lightly. "I highly doubt they'd prosecute us, our record taken into consideration, so basically it all comes down to pride." Ah yes, Alfred could feel the faintest of twitches in the corners of his mouth. Leave it to his Boatswain to bluntly state the truth. Then the seemingly carefree glint in Michael's eyes disappeared, and, straightening, he added,

"But ultimately it could cost a heavy blow to our reputation, and whilst a lesser man might scoff at our _obsession_ with pride, it is a matter of work and in the end this could affect our positions and personal finances."

Gervase grumbled in agreement, face grave and eyes dark. "It is indeed a matter of great importance, but as I see it, there is nothing we can do in our current situation." Alfred clicked his tongue with disapproval at the whole mess and carded a hasty hand through his hair. Reality wasn't pretty.

"So it would seem," he admitted, trying to keep a bitter tone from his voice. He pulled in a small breath, swiftly scanning the deck again where a few of the sailors had by now noticed the small gathering on the helm. While it was not necessarily unnatural to see the four men together – as they were close outside work – the scene had been seen before and good rarely followed it. Alfred minutely rolled his shoulders, trying to relax his posture.

"We will not let this matter escape our minds. Whilst there might be no solution to be found, we may be able to think of something to soften the blow. For now, return to your posts."

The captain didn't know if the other three had noticed the development on the deck or not as they saluted and walked down from the helm, but they would not have been his most trusted had their attention been anything less than knife sharp.

* * *

><p>Evening came rolling with a darkening sky and little change in weather. The helmsman relieved the captain from his post by the wheel with a light nod, a salute and no words. A while earlier the boatswain had reported that the fishnet responsible for most of their daily provisions had gotten a big rift in it, and, still brooding deeply, Alfred had done little more than nod in reply to the helmsman. It wasn't as though a ruined net was all that unusual, and while it would take some time to repair, they would surely have enough food to last them. But a good captain never ignored problems, no matter how minor, and so he carefully went through the cook's report on their food reserves, lining it up with the boatswain's estimated repair time. They would manage just fine.<p>

He went down the stairs and crossed the deck, scanning his surroundings, as was part of his automatic behaviour, but his eyes were far away and deep in thought – so long as no threats or abnormalities were to be seen, the visual information would not bother his conscious mind. It wasn't until he had closed his cabin door and halted on the middle of the floor that he suddenly snapped back to reality and realised where he was. Why he had gone to his cabin, however, he hadn't the smallest clue. With a frown, he turned around.

"Arthur, wh-" The tank was empty.

Alfred, who for a split second had frozen in his steps, nearly growled at himself. Of course it was empty. He observed it critically. Water on the inside lapped sluggishly in time with the ship's movements, making only the smallest of sounds in the room. He sighed irritably. Honestly, it had been two days already. He would have to get some of the men to do something about the tank soon; it was taking up unnecessary with space in his cabin.

Just as he was about to return outside, his gaze strayed and he became aware of something on the floor next to the tank. It was a stack of faded paper, ragged and worn at the edges, little spots here and there showing where water had marred it.

Alfred had intended to leave it as it was as he once again headed for the door, he truly had, but his subconscious must have been of a different opinion, for even as his foot moved through the air, it changed direction.

He picked up the discarded play, discovering it to be two separate works, and with a glance noted the title of both as he went to put them back in their original place in his book case: "_A Summer Night's Dream_" and "_King Henry the Fifth_". He had a faint idea what they were about, but that was all. He had never been too interested in reading them.

Finding space between other plays on the third shelf from the top, he pushed the two scripts in, only mildly concerned that more damage would be inflicted on them by the careless handling. As soon as he was sure the plays would not fall back out, he left the cabin with rapid steps. His feet took him to the left, through the door, and down to the galley. On any normal day he would have walked right in, but heaven knew "normal" had abandoned the ship ages ago. Even though the crew were on a good track to returning to their ordinary selves, Alfred still found himself halting briefly outside the open door, out of sight to the sailors on the inside. It was a recently developed habit, but it appeared to die hard nevertheless.

It would only have been that short pause, had he not caught up on a word and stopped dead, all senses suddenly perked.

"-the captain?"

"I would rather not think about it. It's all over now, and the sooner we forget about it, the sooner we will be out of danger." A few murmured agreements followed this. There were sounds of movement, the frequent clank of plates and tankards, but otherwise the galley was unnaturally quiet.

"I wonder if the captain is still under their influence."

"I say the sooner we hit land, the better." Alfred recognised the gruff voice of the weapon's master. "I agree the captain is reason to worry, but personally I would be more concerned about the quartermaster, the helmsman and the navigator."

"Yes," one of the carpenters, the youngest one, Daniel, said quietly. "They stood by him, didn't they." It was not so much a question as a statement. Then, on a slightly more nervous note, he quickly added "and I would too! I would lay down my life for the captain, but…"

"It's all because of that merman," the older carpenter, Charles, took over. "Chances are that creature already charmed him back in the pub and that the captain has indeed been lost to us ever since we left England."

Thoughtful silence followed this, during which Alfred decided hiding, and thus eavesdropping on his own crew, were not the actions of an honourable captain, even recent events taken into consideration. So he walked in, without giving himself time to pull in a deep breath; head held high, seeming for all the world as if he had just come down from the deck. He found it humourlessly funny how a room in which no one was talking could fall even more silent, but he pretended to ignore this, nodding good-naturedly to several of the men gathered there.

"What have you got for us today?" he asked the cook, making empty conversation just for the sake of it. Was the cook looking a bit uncomfortable? No. That was rather annoyance he could see deep in the man's eyes. He had not spoken up while Alfred had been outside the door, but he had also supported him that one time.

Alfred found a spot by a table and sat down, taking his sweet time getting ready to eat. All the while, the rest of the men in the galley had been consuming their food slowly, without a sound, their stolen glances toward him far too obvious. The captain smiled ever so slightly to himself, looking up from his food and around the room.

"Do carry on talking," he said patiently. It became, if possible, even quieter. He could practically hear the men's thoughts whirring at top speed. Did he know what they had talked about? Or was it an innocent comment, spoken in the spirit of the captain's normal light-hearted humour? Alfred decided to put them out of their misery.

"About what you were just discussing." His smile fell, so they could not be mistaken. Besides, they needed to get this all on the table anyhow. Now was as good a time as any. Glances were exchanged, sailors sitting rigid by their plates, waiting for the first to speak.

"We were expressing our concern," Mark, the oldest carpenter, said finally. "About the merfolk, about everything." There was no accusation in his eye or tone, merely a statement of facts, and it reminded the captain why he preferred to have a few elder men among his crew. Not saying anything however, Alfred simply nodded. Nothing more was required. The crew understood he already knew this, and that he was not further reacting to it seemed to remove a barrier. The tension evaporated and suddenly the room was practically humming with energy. The men were not speaking all at once, or shouting, or making any more noise in that respect, but it was perhaps that they were not tentatively keeping their thoughts and emotions back. Suddenly they were wearing their hearts on their sleeves, and they were crowding around the captain, determined to finally get some answers to their questions about the events that had transpired in the weeks since they left English land.

"First and foremost," Gervase stood in front of Alfred's table, his face grave, his slow, heavy words keeping all the other men at bay. "Do you know if you were under the merman's influence? How much of what you have done these past weeks has been your own doing?" The silence and anticipation weighed heavy like water. Alfred put down his cutlery, taking his time to fully turn all his attention to the crewmembers around him. He looked the elder physician square in the eye.

"All of it."

He gave the three simple little words, with their meaning that was anything but, a moment to sink in.

"The only time my actions were not my own was the time I broke the container on deck." He said, slowly but firmly, making sure they this time understood. How many times had they not asked? How many times had they doubted his answer? But this time was different. Maybe because the merpeople were a memory now, the situation having had a few days to settle in their minds, or maybe for some other reason. "I remember the feeling of it, what it was like, and I would have known if the merman had been in control of me after that. At any point in time."

Alfred sighed heavily, interlinking the fingers of his hands resting on the table, as he shut his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his gaze still did not waver. There was nothing apologetic about the way he sat, nothing about him that seemed to want to make a trifle of what he had done, that regretted it. He was stating the truth, nothing more, nothing less.

"I chose to stand by his side. I chose to protect him. The merman is not to blame for what happened to us-to you. The responsibility for everything that has happened lies solely with me." He did not blame them for the disbelief that coloured their faces around him. While he mentally prepared for what would inevitably come next, he found consolation in the fact that it seemed the truth was finally sinking in and that they were accepting it for being just that.

"So to get into a boat with him every day was your decision?" one sailor asked. Alfred nodded.

"Yes."

"Why?" the youngest carpenter asked. "And…" he hesitated, frowning as he scanned the captain shortly. "I have been… wondering. That time, in the storm, why did you jump over board to get him?" the way several sailors stilled suggested Daniel had not been the only one to question this. The smallest of smiles came to the captain's face. It was soft and sad at the same time, his eyes seeming momentarily distant. But then the moment was gone, and the carpenter wondered if he had imagined it.

"Because," the captain said gently. "He did not know how to swim. That was what I was doing in the boat all those mornings and evenings, I was teaching him."

The gaping, shocked silence that followed was also quite justified, Alfred decided, chuckling silently at the not so few jaws actually dropping a bit. The quiet was shattered only a breath later.

"…that's _absurd_!" Someone's fist hit wood, and then the room was suddenly thrumming and vibrating with emotion and unrest. "_Captain_, are you even _listening _to yourself?! Are you aware just how-"

"And you are saying that you, by your own will, spent more time with that merman – those merpeople, _animals,_ that have done nothing but kill any human they come across – than with your own crew?" There was desperation for this fact to be denied, like a drowning man clawing on driftwood. Alfred could see it and hear it, but could not grant it. He met the sailor's eyes.

"Yes."

The entire galley seemed to be at a loss of words, none of them having been prepared for the emotional turbulence they were suddenly faced with. Then the door of the room was opened and the bubble burst anew.

"How could you do that to us?"

Behind the growingly angry group of men, Alfred could see the two who had entered.

"We are your crew, how did you justify your choices to yourself? How do you intend to justify them to us?!"

He could see the brief confusion in the navigator and quartermaster's face as they were abruptly caught up in the chaos.

"Do our lives mean nothing to you? Do you not care for the risk at which you put us?" Fingers graced his shoulders.

"You were spending all that time with that- that- _creature!_"

"Do you even realise what this looks like?"

"Even our mission has been jeopardized because of you! What do we have to show for our work once we reach land? _Nothing_." Of course the rest of the crew had already thought of this. It had been foolish of him to hope for otherwise.

"Why? _Why?!_ And don't give us that rubbish about following the authorities' orders!" Suddenly there were hands on his collar, curling into fists, and he was yanked up from his seat. There was a face in his, a snarling voice spitting words that rammed into him with almost physical force. "And what else? What else have you been doing with that _thing_ when we haven't been looking? What sort of sick things have you gotten up to?" Without warning, nausea washed over Alfred. He was gaping like a fish at a sailor he, in the chaos of the situation, could not recognise. "You've lost your head. You're no better than all those other captains back in England! Serving under the king, without any regard for our lives, without any care for the lives of those in the colonies! _You are not fit to be-_"

"_Unhand the captain, you bloody twit!_" Out of nowhere the burly cook was grabbing hold of the sailor clutching the captain. Red faced and snorting like a bull, he had a firm grip around the other man's wrists and uncurled his fingers from Alfred's clothes. He had to do it by force, as the sailor seemed to have frozen in place, but it was not done unkindly.

Then the quartermaster was there by Alfred's side, he and the navigator working quickly and efficiently to calm the men who, at some point, had started shouting over each other with no resemblance of order. What the sailor had said had spurred a new branch of yelled accusations, things that made Alfred's head spin, and he felt certain that, had he not had the cook by his side still, he would have lost his footing.

Fifteen seconds later, silence once again reigned in the galley, and the shouts were reduced to a mere echo in the captain's head. But even though Toris and James were the best ranking officers to be found on the Atlantic, the reason for the quick eradication of noise lay mostly with the steaming cook.

"Honestly," Corey finally grumbled after not a word or sound had been made for several minutes. "Get a grip." He then turned, grabbed a few empty plates, and returned behind the counter to his ordinary post with his pots and pans. All the while he grumbled about 'blasted idiots' and 'trigger happy children with nothing between their ears' under his breath.

Alfred took a moment to compose himself, giving the men time to do the same. Small crinkles were still slightly visible around his collar even after he had corrected his clothes, but he did not notice. The navigator did, out of the corner of his eye, but he said nothing.

"I understand," Alfred said. He sighed deeply, cleared his voice, and levelled a sincere, open gaze at the crew. Under the surface, his head was still swimming, disarray reigning in his thoughts, but he did not let it show. He understood them, he did. "You are right to blame me." They were. "You have not been treated fairly and I do not intend to just sweep under the carpet what I have done." All things considered, it could have turned out a lot worse. "I demanded more of you than was my right and have failed you as a captain." He was lucky to have such a good crew. "I am prepared to accept any punishment you see fit outside the law and will not bring it, whatever you must decide, to the attention of the authorities." He could hear his voice, his words, but they came from far away. "I ask you not to let it affect the navigator, quartermaster or helmsman," he observed himself from the outside, no emotion attached. He meant what he said, every word, but pure logic had at some point taken over. "As they have acted purely by my command." He had to raise his hand to silence the two men by his side. A reassuring smile was sent their way, carefully calculated, and they said nothing to oppose him.

"Then I propose we focus on reaching land as quickly as possible," the physician said. "And once the official matter of our mission has been settled, and we have safe dirt under our feet, we can decide what to do."

"Well said, Gervase," Alfred nodded. "Are there any objections?" A brief pause reigned, a possibility to speak up that no one grabbed. "Very well. You are all welcome to come see me in my cabin should you have more you wish to say. You all have the right to be heard and I will listen to and accept every word." He waited again for any objections, any input, but again there was none.

He saluted, smiled, cheerfully complimented the cook on the food, thanking him for it in the process, and proceeded to return to the deck. He greeted the helmsman without a sound and without stopping as he strolled to his cabin. He expected the quartermaster to fill in Eska later, so he entered his cabin, retreating to the relative quiet behind the double doors. He passed the tank without giving it so much as a glance, sat down by his desk, and sifted through some of the documents atop it. There he remained for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>"Enter!"<p>

The hinges were near soundless as the door was opened. A rather good achievement, Alfred thought, as salt water was a pure abomination for metal hinges.

"Pardon the intrusion, Captain."

"What can I do for you Adrian?" The scratching of the nib of Alfred's pen was a steady sound in the room. A beat of silence, then the sound of steps as the sailor made his way a bit further into the room.

"Actually," he said. "I thought I would take you up on the offer to talk." Of course. Alfred's scribbles stilled. He should have expected Adrian to be the first to come. Alfred was not entirely sure if he was surprised that it had not taken a few days, or even one night for the sailors to start lining up at his door. Then again, he supposed a few hours was, strictly speaking, quite generous, all things considered.

"I understand," Adrian went on. "why you did as you did."

Everything stopped. Alfred's movements, his thoughts, everything just stopped. He sat perplexed, as though something had been opened inside and everything had poured out, leaving him empty.

"He wasn't a bad guy, that Arthur," Adrian said softly. Whatever had been opened inside then let something – everything back in. A rush of- of- _something_ welled through Alfred. He felt uncomfortably hot, numb, a soft prickling in his fingers, his head reeling as it might after breathing in too much oxygen. "They went too far," Adrian's voice remained gentle. "The crew." A hand was laid on Alfred's shoulder, and he would have been embarrassed about the way he shaking slightly, had he not been too occupied by feeling overwhelmed. Funny, he thought, gritting his teeth slightly, he could not recall ever being such a weak person.

Perhaps Adrian caught up on it, though it was more likely that he just understood, for his hand squeezed gently only once and then it was gone. For a moment, not a word was said and Alfred was thankful for the discretion granted him as he fought to regain some sense of composure.

"Are you feeling all right, Adrian?" Alfred said finally, attempting to sound his usual, unserious self. "Should I fetch Gervase?"

The sailor laughed a little. "I'm fine, Captain. Not to worry," he assured with cheer, carrying the joke further.

"Your words beg to differ. Need I remind you that you were attacked and nearly eaten by Arthur?" Alfred countered dryly. But when he continued, his mood dropped again. "For which I hold much of the blame as well." The sailor's mood did anything but drop, however.

"I know," he instead replied with ease. "Maybe I lost my mind, or half of it, at that time. Who knows, that would certainly be an explanation. But he wasn't a bad person. Yes, of course, the attack shocked me, scared me – a great deal at that," he came around the desk, to stand in front of it as was customary when handing over a report, but he kept the casual and relaxed tone. He paused, his eyes straying over Alfred's left shoulder. The captain knew far too well what was located there, the mental image automatically created on the insides of his eyelids. "But there was something about him," Adrian said. His voice had fallen lower. "I have been thinking about it a lot. If he truly wanted to kill me, he easily could have; I don't doubt that for a second. Yet he didn't. And I refuse to believe that was just on a whim or because I didn't suit his taste buds." The sailor grimaced good-naturedly, eyes glinting with the little joke.

"You did what you had to do Captain, you acted according to what you thought was right. I understand the other men as well, heaven knows I do, but mostly I pity them. They are too blinded by fear and prejudice. History says we should hate them, that they have done nothing but wrong to us, but," he tilted his head, his hands in his pockets and it was clear to Alfred these were thoughts he had churned over many a time. Maybe this was speech he had repeated in his head many times as well without a fitting moment to voice it out loud.

"Perhaps our history with them isn't as one-sided as we make it. After all-" and here Adrian smiled a bit weirdly "-they're just predators, just like us. Not so different from the way we treat fish or kettle, now is it? We just happen to not be at the top of the food chain, that's all. And it's not unusual for a farmer or any other person to have a pet, or a favourite hen or horse they could never imagine putting down, yet they'll still eat meat. I'm not saying the merfolk are farmers, and I definitely don't agree with them eating humans; I'll try to save anyone unfortunate enough to fall for their charms. I'm just saying it's not black and white – is this making sense at all?" Adrian laughed, shaking his head. "I tried talking to Gervase about it a while back, but before I got very far he insisted on putting me on all kinds of medicines and treatments."

Alfred felt more than a little blown away, he would admit that much to himself. Though he was heavily puzzled, and it was most likely showing, he still mirrored a little of the sailor's positive expression. He felt lighter, calmer, as though a burden had been lifted a bit from him.

"Yes, it is."

The ship's woodwork groaned softly, the ocean around and below them drawing the sounds out of the vessel like an unpredictable lover. Dark had long since fallen, the muffled sound of sailors going about their work barely reaching the two men in the cabin. From behind the other, Alfred could see the so familiar swinging light of two lanterns dancing across the thick window glass. "In that case, good," Adrian said on a long exhale. "I am not going mad. Or if I am, I am not the only one." He shared a quiet smile with the captain, for a moment the two of them relaxing into the feeling of not being alone with their thoughts.

"Well," Adrian straightened a little, pulling his hands from his pockets. "I am on guard duty later, so I better get some shut-eye before then. I will be excusing myself now, Captain."

"Of course," Alfred rose, feeling startled out of a dazed state, though quickly collecting himself.

"Good work today," he said, mostly out of habit. Adrian saluted.

"See you in the morning, Captain. And if it is not too bold of me to say, I think you should consider going under the covers soon as well."

Alfred shook his head, just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes – now that would just be _too_ unprofessional. He had to at least _try_ to appear like a dignified, proper Captain. Every now and again.

"Good night, Adrian," he said, a small, strict warning stressing his tone. Though from the smile Adrian wore as he left the cabin swiftly, the captain knew the sailor saw through it. Shoulders bobbing with silent mirth at the nerve of some of his crewmembers, Alfred got up and stretched. A few pops and cracks in his back made him feel slightly refreshed, for a total of four seconds, and he eyed the bed. It was not such a bad idea, he supposed.

"Here I come, then," he muttered to himself.

An hour and forty minutes later, he was in his nightshirt and trousers, soft covers tucked around him and exhaustion making every limb and joint in his body heavy as lead. But he was still awake. The ceiling was staring mutely back at him in the dark and he tried giving it a reprimanding glare, but it did not help him sleep. What a surprise. Turning over with a sigh, he supposed he could wish the ceiling would hit him and knock him out. His mind countered that it would be a pain and such a waste to have his cabin ruined for the sake of one night's unconscious sleep. His mind followed this up with pointing out that he was not making any sense anymore, which meant he was all too far past the point of over-tiredness.

Still, sleep refused to find him.

With a defeated, and an ever so slightly agitated groan, he pushed the covers aside and swung his feet out of the warm haven of the bed. Looking around for a distraction, he stood. Aimlessly he wandered to his desk, but did not sit down and circled it instead. After the third round, he laughed, the sound disturbingly crazy even to his own ears, and then quickly shut his mouth. Instead, he set his sight on the bookcase and wandered over there. He read every title twice before critically observing the mess he had made when stuffing the Shakespeare plays in place earlier that day.

After a weighty debate with himself, he took them out and smoothed them over. Some of the wrinkles refused to leave, and it annoyed Alfred more than he thought it would. But after some heavy petting and attempted flattening of the plays, he had to face the fact that the damage was done and this was the best they would ever look again. Giving one of the covers a last stroke as he lined the two plays up next to each other, he lifted them to slide them back into their place.

Halfway through, he stopped. He looked at the paper in his hands, the worn edges, and the title of the first play. He thought it over shortly, and arrived on a _"oh, why not?"_

He then took the plays back out of the bookcase and returned to bed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN. <strong>

**I am sorry. I am incredibly, insanely and unbelievably sorry for taking so long. ;^; One word: University. **

**No Arthur in this chapter, but I hope it wasn't a complete bore to read. ^^;**

**Also, someone mentioned that they didn't like Iain's written accent. I thought I should hear with the rest of you, do you find the written Scottish accent I do annoying? Or hard to understand? I suppose I should have had a few more translation notes in the ANs. :/ But yeah, should I change it to "standard" English? **

**Thank you so, so much for reading, and again **_**I promise this story will be finished.**_** It's just going to take a while longer than I expected. **

**P.S: To ****Nuvola (Guest). ****Awesome å ha en Norsk leser! *****O***

**Betaed by the incredible, fantastic StarrNight. :D**


	16. Chapter 16

Alfred yawned. He didn't know how many times that had been by now, but he did know it felt like he had been doing little else up here on the helm. It was no wonder why, of course, but that made it no less bothersome. The captain leaned heavily on the great wheel, wearily suppressing the next yawn and grimacing to himself. He couldn't understand why he remained sleepless. Indeed his troubles were many, that he would not deny, but he had been in this occupation for a long time – in comparison to his age, at any rate. He had faced a great many dilemmas, all of which he had in the end managed to solve, and none of which had robbed him so completely of his sleep before. If anything, he usually prided himself on his good sleeping heart.

But that mattered little now; the sleep was seemingly not stepping within a hundred yards of him. As if that was not enough, he also had this feeling of discomfort gnawing at him without relent, like an ache in his joints. He supposed it had to be a side effect from his lack of sleep, which only irked him even more.

A total of three sailors had come to speak to him after the little episode in the galley, but none of them managed to say much before they apparently thought better of it, apologised and slunk out of the cabin again. Alfred was not able to decide whether it bothered him they seemingly didn't feel comfortable confining – even if it was _complaining_ – in him, or if he should be pleased they didn't feel it justified to actually complain. The crew was behaving otherwise cheerfully enough, the five days since the incident having soothed the immediate tension. Adrian always had a smile to spare for him, something Alfred definitely saw nothing negative about. The young lookout, on the other hand, he hardly ever saw at all. If he didn't know better and didn't happen to catch a glimpse of the young man here and there, he would have believed it had someone said the boy had fallen over board at some point. The behaviour puzzled him, as he had always considered himself and the lookout good friends, but unfortunately he had little time to pay it any closer attention for the time being.

"Captain!"

Ah, and then there was _that_ last little thing as well – or rather, that one last _crewmember_, the reason for Alfred's most recent headache. He did his best to plaster a pleasant smile on his face as said sailor stepped onto the helm, but it did little to quench his desire to smack the man right on that particular little furrow between his brows. Alfred started a mental count to ten, diverting his attention to the feeling of wood under his fingers – the wonderful, neatly polished and worn wood. The man meant well after all, the captain just happened to be running out of patience, and that constant nagging feeling of discomfort was not helping either.

"Yes, quartermaster?"

Toris looked Alfred swiftly up and down, then sighed. "Captain, I wish you would take better care of yourself. What will you do if you collapse?" Toris meant well, he was full of nothing but good intensions and was a dutiful quartermaster. The captain repeated the chant inside his head. If only the quartermaster didn't insist on asking him to sleep six times a day. But Toris was a _good_ man. "It's not healthy for you to go without sleep." Alfred's fingers itched to punch him. Though, he opted for a curt nod instead.

"I appreciate the thought, Toris," he said with his best indulgent voice filled with too much gratitude, "but I am getting plenty of rest, no reason to worry." Wrong words. The furrow grew deeper, developing into a full-fledged frown on the quartermaster's forehead.

"Alfred," he said slowly, his eyes brimming with sympathy as he put a hand on his Captain's arm. "I understand you have a lot resting on your shoulders at the moment. The situation is strained at best. Please, if-"

"I am _fine_, Toris!" Alfred's voice was about three notches too loud as he yanked his arm away. For a split second he had been ready to turn and give the quartermaster a proper talking to. Then he realised what he had done. He groaned, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "I'm sorry Toris. I didn't mean to shout. I appreciate it, I really do."

Toris gave a small smile. "It's alright Alfred, I know. Just, don't push yourself." He saluted softly. Alfred watched him leave down the stairs, a frown of his own brewing across his face. He knew Toris wouldn't hold a grudge against him – if he knew his quartermaster, which he believed he did very well, he wasn't even mildly angry. But Alfred never lost his temper with Toris and something felt very wrong with having even raised his voice at the person he considered his most trusted officer and closest friend. He lowered his gaze to the wheel with a grumble. This was just fantastic; here was something else to add to his already growing feeling of aggravation. He would have to talk to Toris later, apologise properly.

At the moment however, he had to stay sharp. Or at least look like he was still thrice as sharp as he was currently feeling. Along the horizon lay dark clouds like a fine line, right in the path of their course.

* * *

><p>The captain's finger was tapping. The index finger of his left hand was beating out a low and steady but rapid rhythm on the wooden surface of his desk. The navigator's face betrayed no feeling of possible distress as he quite calmly continued to deliver his rapport – in fact, he was acting as though the constant tapping sound didn't exist at all. Toris was no less professional than his colleague, and kept his eyes off the finger, but he couldn't help the feeling of worry that churned dully in his gut. Alfred never tapped his finger. The man himself seemed completely oblivious to what he was doing, however.<p>

"I believe we are currently located roundabout here," the navigator said, showing on the map laid out on the desk. "We have drifted a bit off course, but it should not affect the voyage too greatly."

Alfred nodded absentmindedly. Toris observed him carefully out of the corner of his eye. During these past few days, the captain had become grimmer and more on edge, but for all their years together, Toris was at a loss of what to do. For the time being, he could only watch his captain warily and hope for better times.

Alfred growled lowly, rubbing his forehead roughly with one hand, leaning against the desk with the other. "You are not to blame, navigator, it is only to be expected." Toris nodded in agreement, looking down at the map again. There was nothing unusual about going off course, rather the complete opposite. "But the time lost must be regained," the captain swiftly continued. Toris glanced at him again.

"Of course, Captain," James nodded curtly.

"I want all the men on double duty until we have caught up." There was a frozen pause following the order. Alfred himself seemed to pay it little heed, his eyes going distant again as they had through most of the meeting. James still had his expression carefully schooled, but exchanging a short glance, Toris could see his confusion was shared.

"I apologise, Captain, I don't quite understand-" he began hesitantly, but the small, vexed sigh that escaped Alfred immediately silenced him. The captain's finger, that had stopped briefly when addressing James, started up again. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

"Double duty, quartermaster, until the time we have lost has been regained."

Toris could feel his stomach starting to dance. This could not be right. The captain's mood was like a cloud overshadowing the room and sending a chill over him. He made his voice as polite and submissive as he possibly could when he once again spoke back to Alfred. "That is very well Captain. But surely you mean this order is to be applied after the crew has been given sufficient time to rest? They have just battled a storm, after all." Alfred lifted a brow, focusing his gaze shortly on the quartermaster.

"That was just for two days. The weather is better now, the men can manage a few more days before they rest. Surely _you_ understand the importance of reaching land quickly?"

Toris' mouth tensed. He was about to open his mouth, to object again, but he could see where it would end. Every instinct inside him was flashing warningly, so instead he kept his words to himself. He nodded.

"Of course, Captain, I-"

"Dismissed."

James and Toris left the cabin without another word, both saluting in expert unison before they did so. Outside, grey clouds still hid the sky and below them the water was closer to black than blue, but the weather itself had quieted down. James was the one to close the door quietly, and the two walked side by side as they headed for the helm to inform Eska and act on their Captain's orders.

"The captain is not himself," James said, voice quiet so as not to be accidentally overheard by nearby sailors.

"That is to put it lightly," Toris replied with a grim smile. "But I fear there is little we can do." He threw a glance up at the sky and the masts stretching towards it above them.

"I pray we reach land fast," James said. "There has been a lot resting on the captain's shoulders –there still is. I don't envy him his position. Lesser things have been known to drive a man insane. I only hope getting off this ship and getting some rest with his feet on solid ground will help him."

"Until then, we must do whatever we can to lessen his responsibilities and duties," Toris muttered, clenching and unclenching his hands. From James came a humourless, short laugh.

"That, my friend, will be a lot easier said than done."

Behind them, behind two closed doors and completely oblivious to their heavy concern, Alfred had risen to his feet. He was leaning on his desk with both hands, staring straight down at the map without really seeing it.

Another two days had passed. During these two days the weather had been far less than ideal; howling winds and murderous waves had tried to have their way with his ship and men. The day before two kegs of ale had loosened from their fastenings in the violent heaves two decks below and had smashed open, laying an even more depressed blanket over the already straining crew. The tank was also _still there_. Alfred had had to lock the lid to prevent water from spilling all over the cabin floor during the storm. He believed he had told the carpenters to have it removed days ago, yet they had not gotten to it yet. Something had to be done about this laziness as the tank was still taking up space in his cabin; he had been able to see it clearly out of the corner of his eye through the entire meeting. Despite James having been to his left, the big thing had been painfully visible.

James. He had been the bearer of even more bad news. They had been thrown off course during the storm, and quite far at that. The weather had stilled, but just as Alfred thought that there was then one thing less to worry about, another problem just had to appear right in its place. Would there be no end to his troubles?

He frowned down at the map for another moment, then rubbed his face with both hands before running them through his hair with a deep inhale. He needed fresh air.

The ship was humming with life. Good, Alfred nodded to himself, it meant his orders had been carried out. He strolled across the deck, watching the men do their duties and observing work that had already been done. He walked all the way to the forecastle, running his hand idly along the rail as he inspected some of the ship's rigging. Then something made him stop, lift his brows, and throw a sweeping glance over the busy men.

"Boatswain!" he called out as he observed Michael down on the main deck. The man reacted immediately – looking around, spotting the captain and quickly making his way to him.

"Yes sir?" he saluted.

"Who is in charge of this?" Alfred showed with a hand where some rope work had clearly just been redone. It took a beat for Michael to answer, but if he was slightly bewildered by the question, he did not show it. Instead he turned to scan the main deck.

"That would be," he said slowly as his eyes searched. Upon finding the sailor he was looking for, he called the man over.

"Sir?" the sailor said, saluting firmly and standing very straight. Alfred looking him shortly up and down.

"Are you responsible for this?"

"Yes sir," the man replied.

"How long have you been sailing?"

"Two years, Captain," he said, but sounded more hesitant this time.

"Then I expect your work to be better. In a storm, this kind of poor work could be fatal. Redo it, and unless you want this to be your last voyage, I suggest you shape up."

"Y-yes sir, of course sir, it will not repeat itself sir!" the man stumbled over his own words, saluting quickly when Alfred, without further ado, left. A simple 'right away, sir' would have sufficed. Anything more was a waste of time.

He did another round on the main deck before going to the helm to relieve Eska. No words were exchanged, just a silent acknowledgement of each other and Alfred was left alone on the quarterdeck, resisting the urge to yawn _yet again_.

It was a challenge to remain upright on the helm for the rest of the day. Alfred had not told the quartermaster, knowing he would be flayed alive, but his sleep-depravity was getting to be so bad he was seeing double unless he consciously focused on seeing straight. He knew it was not good, he knew if this kept up he would reach a point of 'no return', as it were. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he was lucky if he got two to three hours sleep in a night. He was resorting to Shakespeare more and more often, and more than once morning light had peaked in through his window before he realised he had read the whole night through.

Alfred's hands tightened on the wheel. Realisation oozed like slow smoke through his mind; he should have known better. Closing his eyes briefly, he called James, who just passed by on the deck below, up to him.

"Take the helm," he said. "I was reminded of something I need to get done." The navigator just nodded, did not question Alfred's order, didn't even look the least bit surprised. He was quite the officer, Alfred thought, though it was just a passing note in the back of his mind. He needed to get off the helm. Despite the fact that he fully intended not to let the crew onto that anything was wrong with him, even he had enough insight to see nothing good would come of him remaining on the helm.

Back in the safety of his cabin, he steadied himself with several long, slow breaths, depending on the closed doors to keep him standing. He was restless, frustration coursing through his veins like hot floating iron, spurring annoyance at how he was barely able to keep under control over the smallest of things. It had been like this for several days, and Alfred had not had a single moment's rest from it. It was a dull sensation, he could not exactly call it pain, but it was far from comfortable. It challenged his patience, slowly wearing it thinner and thinner.

There was only one thing to blame, he knew it far too well. He would give anything to change that one, thoughtless, idiotic decision he made: he should not have taken the merman from the pub. His eyes found the tank, the big, bulky object rudely intruding on his cabin. The turmoil of all those infuriating feelings burned through his body in chaotic waves, and he began stumbling his way across the floor.

He should have left the merman, he should have chucked him into the ocean at the first chance, Alfred thought, reaching the tank and clutching onto the edge of the lid. He should not have saved the merman that time in the storm. Alfred's eyes would not focus, even though he tried with tightening eyebrows. He should have let the waves reclaim what never should have been brought on land in the first place. Alfred's jaws were clenched so tight a gritting sound was grinding in his head. It would have been better for all of them if he had just killed it, that blasted creature. He should have just put a bullet in its brain when it first attacked Adrian. Everything, Alfred's fist hit the lid hard, everything was that _thing_'s fault!

His knees gave in and the captain sank to the floor, succumbing to his exhaustion. How long he sat there, swimming between unwilling sleep and dazed consciousness, he did not know. By the time he managed to drag himself to the bed to lie there for hours staring at the ceiling, the night shifts had long since started.

* * *

><p>Toris kept a close eye on his captain when he exited his cabin that morning, two days after the tense navigation meeting. James had told him how Alfred had suddenly abandoned the helm to him, and so yesterday Toris had tried several times to get the captain alone to talk. However, regardless of all his attempts, Alfred had managed to evade him. It had not made matters better that his mood seemed to have plummeted overnight, and it didn't look like they had improved much today. The captain that now headed over to the boatswain had a deep crease between his brows, which drew them down to cast a sharp shadow over his eyes. It was far from the first time Toris had seen such a sight as of late, and it had slowly become the captain's default expression more than anything.<p>

The captain spent the day either on the helm or walking around the ship, to any eye looking like he was inspecting it. Toris knew however, that if there was anything wrong with the vessel, the boatswain would have warned Alfred a long time ago. Besides, they had gone through the damages from the storm yesterday, so while the captain might use the damages as a cover, the quartermaster didn't buy it.

The boatswain and the storm was also the reason for the dread Toris felt when he went to bed that night, the mood thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Toris had thought the day was passing rather nicely, all in all, the captain's mood even seeming to lift a bit. But then the cook had discovered another broken barrel. The boatswain had not detected it when he did the damage assessment of the ship, as the barrel only had a hole on the back, but by now most of its content had spilled out. Toris had sent one of the sailors to fetch Alfred, opting to stay and help the cook salvage what he could.

In hindsight, lying under his covers, he wished he had gone himself. The sailor had been taking a while, so he had gone up to the main deck to see what was the matter. He had set foot outside just in time to see the sailor exit the captain's cabin –except Alfred was not in his cabin, he was at the other end of the deck. Anger like thunder cracked up the captain's face, and with a raging voice he had asked what the sailor thought he was doing entering the cabin without his authorisation. The sailor's stuttered explanation had been too quiet for Toris to hear it, but Alfred's next words had rung loud and clear.

"_You and you, escort this man to the brig. One night down there should remind you of your place, sailor." _

Toris had tried to ease the situation, he truly had. Alfred had never punished a sailor before –he had never cared until today if someone entered his cabin without him either.

"_Captain, what is going on?" Toris neared cautiously, glancing at the sailor trapped between two bigger men. Alfred did not reply. Toris gently put a hand on the captain's arm, standing even closer to him. "Is this really necessary?" he whispered, desperately pleading in his mind for their captain to see reason. _

_But Alfred did nothing. He only levelled Toris with a gaze that sent shivers down the quartermaster's spine. Then Captain Jones spoke, voice so soft and so void of all emotion. _

"_Do you agree with this, quartermaster? Do you agree with this complete lack of regard for rank? Do you agree that a Captain should not be granted any sort of privacy on his own ship?" _

"_Of course I don't agree with it." Toris let his hand slip away, but remained where he was, hoping to somehow appease Alfred. "But the sailor bore no ill intent. It was I who asked him to find you as Corey was busy trying to salvage what was left in the barrel." _

"_Then," Alfred said coolly. "Are you challenging my position, quartermaster?" _

_The step back Toris took was completely by reflex as he stared in shock at his captain. "I would never- you know that Alfred!" A cold stab passed briefly in the captain's eyes at the sound of his name and Toris could have bitten off his own tongue. _

"_If so, why are you still objecting me? You know as well as I that on certain other vessels this sailor would have been locked in the brig for the rest of the voyage. I am being merciful." _

_The pause that followed was no longer than a few seconds, but it seemed to span out, the sound of the ocean and the winds suddenly very _there_. Toris nodded in defeat. _

"_Of course, Captain. I apologise for stepping out of line." _

Toris turned restlessly as the scene repeated itself in his mind. He could not even begin to fathom what kind of effect this would have on the crew. He could only hope he still had time to do something with the situation – he had to speak with Alfred, he had to somehow make him see how he was changing.

After the incident on deck, the remainder of the day had vanished in a sort of shocked, disoriented haze. Evening and night rolled in with a cloud free sky and a myriad of stars twinkling down at ship. Alfred had at some point taken over the helm for a few hours, giving the helmsman a chance to catch some well-deserved rest before he was to take the night shift. Staring up at the ceiling, Toris knew the captain was up there above his head, a still statue by the wheel.

* * *

><p>Alfred watched from his vantage point as a bit later into the night the navigator came out on deck. He had a rolled up map under his arm and Alfred believed he could spot a spyglass in the man's other hand. The captain was not surprised when James climbed up on the forecastle and stayed there.<p>

When darkness had well and truly enveloped them, the lanterns lit here and there the only source of light below the heavens, Eska returned in silence to his post. The ocean was as black as the sky, stray rays from the lanterns dancing across the waves in little flashes and glimpses of light far below. Alfred watched it as he walked along the bulwark. When he was young, he had imagined the brief, quick reflections were little fairies racing the ship. That was such a long time ago now.

Up to the forecastle he walked, finding James seated on the deck with the map rolled out in front of him. Alfred stopped and stood like a silent shadow a few feet behind him, observing the navigator.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" James hummed after a little while.

"How is the course?" Alfred asked.

"Good," James replied absently, then carried on with more interest, "do you see that star Captain?" he pointed up into the sky. "Up there, you can see Polaris, the north star," he moved his finger slightly as he spoke. "And a bit further under it and slightly to the left there's a brightly shining star, do you see it?" Alfred nodded and James must have caught it out of the corner of his eye, for he continued without waiting for a vocal affirmation. "That's Vega, a part of the constellation Lyra."

Alfred just hummed shortly in reply. He had not come up to the forecastle to talk about stars. Indeed, he was not entirely sure why he had gone up there at all, but now impatience was prickling in his fingers. However, James was not done talking and Alfred restrained himself. Out of politeness to a faithful subordinate and friend, he remained where he was. The navigator's voice was slow and comfortable, as though he were only half talking to the captain and half just musing out loud to himself.

"The Lyra, a lyre, belonged to Apollo, the Greek god of music, but was invented and given to him by his half-brother Hermes. The reason it ended up on the night sky, however, is a different story entirely." James leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the night sky without the spyglass.

The two fell into silence while the ship around them bustled with nearly as much life as it would during the day. Sailors who normally were deep asleep at this hour were flittering around the ship, trying to make as much of the night winds as possible. The navigator hardly appeared to notice, engulfed in the night skies' far away splendour. Many a night he had been a source of entertainment for Alfred's crew, telling stories of old.

The captain observed the navigator for another short while, then decided the man looked to be completely lost in his own thoughts and saw it as a chance to soundlessly slip away. But just as he started turning on his feet, James jerked slightly and threw a glance at Alfred across his shoulder.

"Do you want to hear it Captain? The story?"

The captain wanted to say no, to leave. Yet instead, he choked back a sigh, and his restlessness with it, and stayed. The navigator looked back up to the stars.

"Apollo gave his lyre to his son, Orpheus. Being the son of the God of music, Orpheus was an amazing musician, and even sticks and stones would move when he played. One day he meets a wood nymph by the name Eurydice. They fall in love at first sight and decide to get married. Gods and nymphs alike are invited, but even as they all sing and make merry, the god of marriage, Hymenaios, remains serious through the entire celebration.

"The beautiful nymph had also long been coveted by Aristaeus, a shepherd, but she had turned him down for Orpheus. There are different versions of how the story then goes. Some say Aristaeus tried to kill Orpheus, and that as he and his bride ran away she stepped in a nest of snakes. Others say Aristaeus brought the snake to the wedding and made it bite Eurydice. Either way, Eurydice dies. Desperate with sorrow, Orpheus decides he cannot live without her and ventures to search for the road to the underworld, and he finds it too. He makes his way down, enchanting the ferry man, Charon, with his lyre and makes him ferry him across the river Styx. Likewise he charms Cerberus, the terrible three-headed dog that guards the entrance to Hades. Orpheus sings of his sorrow and pain to Hades' queen, and, moved by him, she pleads with her husband to let Eurydice go. Hades himself had been moved by Orpheus' beautiful music and agrees, but on one condition: Orpheus is not to look back at his wife until they reach the surface.

"Orpheus begins the slow climb back to the world of the living. It goes slow, as Eurydice is still in pain from the snakebite, but no matter how hard he listens Orpheus cannot hear the sound of her footsteps and he starts to believe the Gods have fooled him. As it grows lighter around him, he finally loses his self-restraint and needs to see if his beloved Eurydice is with him. Indeed, there she is, faint like a shadow, looking at him with sorrowful eyes. Three times a voice calls her name and with a silent farewell full of love she sinks back to the underworld. Orpheus tries to follow her, but the Gods will not allow him a second time.

"Orpheus wanders the earth, singing of his agony and the injustice of the Gods to anyone who will listen, and never takes another woman for as long as he lives. When he one day turns down a group of women's advances on him, he does not fight them as they in anger tear him apart, for he can now finally be reunited with his Eurydice." James sighed in the cool night air, still gazing unmoving at the sky. "They say that whenever you hear music which mourns love, it is Orpheus' spirit who guides the hand of the musician who plays it."

Somewhere along the story, Alfred had ended up looking up at the night sky as well, and the longer he had stared, the more stars he had seen. James voice had been soft and easy on the ears, and the captain found he was for a moment stuck there, staring at the overwhelming magnitude above their heads. Far back in his mind, a similar memory stirred, of himself and a merman in a boat, looking up at the endless black.

"You don't say," he muttered finally, returning to reality and swiftly reeling in and collecting his scattered mind. He yawned and stretched, a few pops crackling up his back. "I am going to retire for the night," he said, rolling his shoulders back and tilting his head from side to side to loosen his neck.

"Good night, Captain."

With a wordless incline of the head, Alfred retreated down the steps, crossed the main deck, and crawled in to bed to read plays he had read before. He would try to close his eyes and, after an hour of blindly listening to water and air, he would eventually slip into a light sleep, a sleep filled with despairing tones of bottomless longing and sorrow, poisonous snakes, rivers black as tar, and an ocean far too deep and vast.

* * *

><p>"Captain, I am only-"<p>

"Quartermaster!" Alfred rubbed his temples; he was so very close to losing everything that even resembled restraint. "I appreciate the thought, but as I have already said, it's none of your concern. Now would you _please_ leave?" His jaw muscles were tight as he extended his last bit of civil courtesy to the quartermaster. It took everything he had to keep his hands from trembling with suppressed annoyance and to remain seated by his desk.

"Captain, I just feel it is necessary to warn you. The crew is growing restless again, they're not used to- to-" Toris tried to find the right word, "to you being like this." He had not exactly succeeded. Alfred sent him a sharp stare.

"Care to elaborate, quartermaster?" This was worded as a polite request, and voiced as anything but. Toris steeled himself and schooled his nerves.

"You have been behaving very differently than usual as of late. To confront this has become more and more of pressing importance. I, and several of the other ranking officers with me, are concerned and feel that you-"

"_Toris_." Alfred rose brashly to his feet. "I am the captain of this ship. As such, you, and all the other sailors out there with you, are to follow my every order unless you want to lose your position and job the moment we set foot on homeland again!" His stare bored hard into the quartermaster; the man was pushing every one of Alfred's buttons. He could not make his point any clearer than this, and if the quartermaster had anything resembling sense he would leave on the spot.

"Alfred…" A pause. Then Toris' eyes widened slowly, as though a realisation had just dawned on him. But then his face fell, and…was that pity in his eyes? Pained sympathy. It made Alfred's skin crawl.

"You miss him," Toris whispered.

"Who?" Alfred bit him off, having barely registered what the other had said. Whatever his quartermaster was on about now, he had no time for it.

"Arthur."

Alfred could have sworn Toris had just gutted him. It took him several minutes to once again know up from down.

"Preposterous! That _thing_ has brought us nothing but trouble." He stood straight and tall, fists clenched at his side, hovering over the smaller man. He believed what he said to be true –he _knew _it to be true, and it was about time his soft quartermaster realised it as well. So why was he suddenly feeling cold and nauseated and as though something was gripping his chest? Furiously he pushed it aside and took a step toward Toris.

Exactly what he hoped to achieve, he was not sure of, not even when he thought about it in hindsight, maybe he had hoped to somehow _will_ Toris to leave? For a moment, it looked like the quartermaster would. His brows pulled together in a frown, one foot turned to the door, but he remained standing where he was, hesitantly, his eyes flickering once from the door to the captain. Alfred waited, and waited, and waited while every second seemed a mile long and something he could not identify was building up inside so he felt as though he would burst into a million pieced and he just wanted Toris to _leave_.

But Toris didn't leave. He instead got a decisive expression on his face, body language all of a sudden firmer, like a man who had made up his mind, no matter the cost. Toris did not leave, Toris did not even go towards the door. Instead, he came toward Alfred and Alfred desperately wanted to push him away, but he could not, he was frozen in place. Then Toris was abruptly very close and Toris was reaching out his hands and Toris was and Toris was- and Alfred suddenly lost all sense of bearings again.

Toris did not say anything, he just held Alfred to him, closely but gently. Alfred knew his eyes were wide open, he could feel the small muscles of his face straining, he knew he was staring right ahead, but he saw nothing. For several long moments, he saw white and could feel his own heart beat in his chest so strongly his brain fooled him to think he could actually hear the thumping loudly in his ears. A turmoil of emotions, confusion towering over it all, raged inside him.

Something rolled down his cheek, making his skin feel like it was on fire. It was just a faint realisation, a distant recognition, and equally as faintly, he did not understand what caused it. Not until the searing hot trail trickled further down his skin, following the curve, and hit the corner of his mouth. It was warm and wet and tasted of salt.

In a shocked burst of energy he shoved Toris back, the quartermaster stumbling several steps. Alfred barely noticed. Blindly he headed for the door. What was going on? _What was wrong with him_? He could not understand anything anymore! He needed to get away, he needed to move, he needed to find somewhere to escape. His hands fumbled with the door handle.

"Alfred- Alfred, wait!"

Had Alfred had the time, he would have heard the rushed panic in Toris' voice and stopped. But he didn't hear it, he just heard his own heartbeat and he got the door open and burst out – only to be met by a large group of men looking at him.

Alfred stopped dead in his tracks and stared back. They looked a bit nervous, some of them, and he dully realised they had been waiting for him.

"Captain," one of the men said. How he managed to compose himself just then, Alfred would never understand, but when he spoke his voice sounded so normal it even impressed him.

"Yes sailor? What do you want?"

"We wished to raise a matter with you, and as it concerns us all, we felt it only right that we were all present," said the man. There was probably some truth to what he was saying, but mostly it just sounded like "_strength in numbers_" to Alfred's ears. "First of all, we wish to apologise for what happened in the galley. It was unprofessional behaviour on our part and unacceptable. We should be able to talk like civilised men."

Alfred nodded. He had nothing to add to that. The sailor, emboldened by the captain's seeming ease with the whole confrontation, continued.

"We have talked about it, and we feel we have been unfairly treated." The man's voice hardened a bit and grew slightly louder as he got more into what he was saying and gained confidence. "Ever since the storm, hardly any of us have had time to recuperate. Several of the men feel hesitant to speak to you openly after seeing the consequences of certain… ah… _incidents_ taking place on board." The man paused, his cautious eyes clearly waiting to see if the captain had something to add. Alfred still did not. He absently wondered exactly how well he had managed to pull himself together, for the sailor did not look alarmed in the least, even though a storm was brewing just under the surface. Alfred had trouble keeping it sealed up; in truth, the sailor's words were not really registering in his mind. At least not until what he said next.

"We realise you have had a lot of strain put on you, but we think it would be best if you let Toris captain the rest of the voyage. We all agree you need rest, the whole ordeal with the merman has-"

That was all that was needed. This was the last little nudge that pushed him over the brink. Alfred still did not understand, nothing made sense, and whatever composure he had managed to quickly build and maintain, shattered. Words he had not authorised welled forth from his mouth.

"Stop. Just, _stop._ I understand, I have said I've understood, I have tried to understand the position I've put you all in, everything I have exposed you to. I have been patient; I have told myself I need to accept everything you have to say because in the end it is all my fault. But why, _why must you insist on blaming Arthur?_"

Pin-drop silence. However, Alfred could not hear it for the thud-thud-thud in his ears, and even if he had, he would not have cared.

"Arthur wasn't a bad person, he didn't do anything wrong. He never wished harm on any of you! So why do you keep bringing him up? Why won't you try just once to understand my side of all of this? Why won't you believe me on my word? After all we have been through, _why won't you trust me_?_!_"

He had been shouting; his voice was still ringing in the air as time seemed to stand still. The men had no reply and whatever they had been thinking before had long since died on their tongues. It was, perhaps, not so strange that some would think the next thing to happen was a bit of a blessing and not a moment too late. The same people would soon realise they had only gone from the frying pan to the fire, but right then and there, the diversion was more than welcome:

"C-captain! Captain!"

The lookout, who had come down from his post in the crow's nest in favour of being present for the confrontation –even though he had stayed at the very back, contemplating if he should have just stayed up in the mast– had not forgotten about his duties. Not even when things got loud. He had kept a weathered eye out on the seas and now he had burst through the crowd. Standing in high alarm between the men and the captain, spyglass in one hand, everything about him was craving attention.

"_There's fire, fire in the distance_!"

One had to admire the captain. Regardless of what opinion one might have of him, he was no weak man and demanded respect. At the very simple mention of danger, he immediately discarded personal matter and feelings. Before many of the men even managed to catch up with the turn of events, he was already by the bulwark, the lookout handing him the spyglass. If only they knew, he was in reality just barely clinging onto a last thin thread of sanity.

"There. There are two ships, if you look at the flag, Captain, it is evident the one to the right is a pirate ship."

Alfred only threw the shortest of glances through the spyglass. Then he clicked his tongue and was heading for the helm with brisk steps while his voice rung out loud and clear as it had so many times in the past. And regardless of the scene that had just found place, every man aboard found he could not deny the plain authority in it.

"_All hands on deck! Full speed ahead and ready the cannons!_"

Toris, in contrast to the other men who hastened to make the ship battle ready, followed hot on Alfred's tail.

"Captain," he said intensely. "You are not fit for battle. You should-"

"Toris, now is really not the time," Alfred cut him off.

"Alfred, I'm neither stupid nor blind. I know how little you have been sleeping; I know you can barely remain standing on your feet! Your current emotional state taken into consideration as well, you should get to the safety before the battle starts. We will manage."

The rational part of Alfred's mind told him Toris was very much right. However, Alfred was the captain of this ship and, no matter what, he would do his duty until the very end. So he tightened his grip on the wheel and set his gaze on the two ships in the distance. He put a lid on his messy thoughts and the little voices whispering that he really should listen to the quartermaster.

The disapproval was obvious in Toris' eyes, however he did not say anything else. Instead, he took up post next to Alfred and redirected his attention to the situation at hand.

They forced every ounce of speed out of the ship's many sails, but it mattered little. When they reached the site the water was littered with bodies, and parts of the losing ship were scattered like small, burning islands around the main wreck. What remained of the ship was sinking, the flag of the British Empire floating torn on the water with a broken mast. Alfred doubted there were any lives to be saved, but at the very least, they would do their job as a part of the navy and avenge the fallen.

"Load the cannons!" Alfred turned the wheel, quickly lining up for the best possible shot as they neared the scene. "_Fire!"_ The thundering roar of every cannon on the starboard broadside joined the captain's voice.

The pirate ship's wounds were few and not very serious, and she quickly retaliated. Alfred was far too aware that pirates preferred to hijack a ship with as little damage possible done to it in order to loot her for her riches, kill the crew, and then take her for their own. The fact that there was a ship in flames meant something had gone wrong for the pirates. Though the battle had apparently been short for the British ship, they had done something right that had properly scared the sea bandits and Alfred would make sure to honour their bravery when they reached land.

The battle raged on quickly and furiously, yet for all Alfred's efforts, they soon had hooked ropes clinging to their railings and masts, connecting them to the pirate vessel.

"_Cut them! Cut them all!_" Any and every man not busy with a cannon drew whatever blades they had, but it seemed that for every rope they cut, two more would appear. Then, inevitably, the first set of foreign feet landed on their deck, swiftly followed by several others. The pang of pistols and clashing of blades mixed with cannon roar.

The first few cries of agony followed not long after, bullets piercing flesh and shattering bone, and from where he stood, Alfred could see two of his own men go down. Growling, not far from the sound of a feral animal, the captain abandoned the helm. He drew his sword with the singing sound of metal leaving its sheathe and threw himself into the fray.

Cannon fire continued to boom through the air, the sound deafening enough to disorient the best of men. Shudders went through the ship every time she was hit, and in a split second, half the port side bulwark had been torn away by a chain-shot.

Alfred spotted a pirate coming down on one of his sailors. His pistol was in his hand in the blink of an eye – he aimed, he shot, and he missed. The sailor and pirate vanished out of sight between battling people, but the last he saw was the sailor taking a grave hit across the shoulder and chest. Alfred gritted his teeth. He could feel his brain lagging; he was already feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden exertion of fighting.

"_Captain!_" A holler and a gunshot did nothing short of saving Alfred's life. He spotted the weapons master across the deck, nodded shortly and receiving a nod in return before the man went off in pursuit of another pirate. That was right; Alfred had to stay focused on what was going on. This was not the time to be lacking in attention.

He whirled like a wind across the deck, engaging with any blade daring to oppose him or threaten crewmembers within his vicinity. For how long the battle raged on was hard to say, as such things as sense of time quickly dissipates when fighting for your life and that of others.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a blade met Alfred's, one that did not immediately yield to him. So far, anyone he had crossed him had quickly fallen before him, however, this person was different. Alfred found himself locked in a raging duel with a pirate of equal skill to himself. He would later look back and find it, in truth, quite strange that neither of them got hit by a single bullet as they moved across the main deck without regard for any other, but at the moment in time the thought did not even graze him.

As the fight dragged on, every one of his best finishing attacks being met and countered, this pirate refusing to slip up a single time, it became more and more pressing to him that he ended this quickly. He was light headed, the connection from conscious mind to hands and feet feeling numb, giving him the feeling he could not entirely trust his limbs to do what he wanted them to. All colours had become slightly lighter, contrasts dimming away, and he had the strange, frustrating sensation that he was looking at everything from far away or through a tunnel, even though he clearly was not.

He could have laughed. So this was as far as he could go. To think he would finally reach his limit here, at the worst possible time. He had seen so many battles, won so many fights –things worse than this. It felt a bit ironic.

Then, from one second to another, Alfred no longer had a sword in his hand. A mere few inches from his face was the sharp end of his opponent's blade. Alfred stared at it, and the urge to laugh, loudly and disbelievingly, still bubbled in his throat. It was the first time he had been at this end of a sword since he had become a captain.

For a short moment, throwing a swift glance at the pirate, Alfred had his first chance to actually see who he had been fighting. The pirate was a bit shorter than him, hair short and light blond, his eyes a dark blue. The pirate appeared to him strangely expressionless –looking almost bored. His chest heaved from the fight, but he showed no other visual sign of being at all affected by weariness. On one side of his head he wore a cross hanging upside-down, keeping that part of his hair back. Successful pirates would at time wear excessive jewellery for the sake of showing off the wealth they had obtained, but as this particular man wore nothing but that one strange cross, it hit Alfred as an odd piece to be chosen.

The stoic pirate moved his arm slightly, as though to prepare for a last blow. Perhaps it was because of sleep-depravity, or maybe something else entirely, but regardless of the cause, Alfred could only feel irony and that light urge to laugh. His sense of reason told him how grave the situation was and, even though he knew it, his feelings wouldn't mirror it.

The pirate then clicked his tongue in what sounded like blasé annoyance, before he lowered his sword. Alfred's eyebrows shot upwards. The incredulity of it all was just flying higher with every passing breath.

"He's all yours, Captain."

Alfred frowned and the pirate turned away. There was a blur of movement; he caught only the briefest glance of unruly blonde hair, a wide grin, and the cold gleam of something neatly polished.

Looking down, eyes wide, he saw the unforgiving metal of a blade protruding from his body. Belatedly, fire and ice seared nauseatingly with a pang through his midriff. A foot shoved against his stomach, the sword was pulled out and Alfred staggered backwards. He would hit the port side bulwark. Oh, but no, the port side bulwark had been ripped away by a cannon shot. His foot treaded thin air. He fell over the side of the ship and, instead of a rail, the surface of the wild ocean hit him like a rock. It beat the breath clean out of him and for several seconds he was underwater. He swam – or floated, he could not make out which – back up to the air and sound. Waves tumbled him around, but he got several glimpses of his ship towering over him.

As the edges of his vision began blurring out, reality hit and suddenly his mind had a moment of complete clarity. He saw it again, his pirate opponent turning away, a taller man several feet behind him with a drawn sword. Alfred had not had time to react. Or maybe he would have, if he had been at his full capacity. But he hadn't been, and nothing would come of questioning that now.

Salty water forced its way in through his mouth and nose and burned the inside of his face. Yet it was with strangely detached, grim humour that he reflected on the turn of events. It would appear he was really badly off indeed, and this time it seemed he would not find a quick-witted way out of it. But it wasn't so bad a place to end, he thought, at the final mercy of his beloved ocean.

Nothingness tugged at the corners of his mind and slowly began wrapping itself around him, the numbness a welcome reliever of pain. He just hoped his crew would somehow make it through. Awareness was slipping from him, half thoughts and scattered words without meaning faintly roaming the last small bits of his conscience. He thought he could feel hands on him, arms around him, and though he understood it was nothing but a hallucination created by his dying brain, he found comfort in it as he-.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm so sorry for the delay again. ,_, I'm back at uni so writing is slow, and my beta was in a car accident. She's alright, but I want her to take it easy. <strong>

**Important historical-ish-fact: **_**Ale**_**. When sailing for many weeks, any water on board would eventually go bad and full of bacteria and desiese, so everyone would drink ale (since it's alcohol and that bad stuff can't live in it). Even children and families. Drink ale or thirst to death. So I figure ale on board would be rather precious. **

_**FANART! :D **_ when-humans-think-of-hospitality dot tumblr dot com /post/48085485205/lol-im-horrible-at-editing-and-e ngland-this **Isn't it just amazing? *^* Thank you so much! **

**Betaed by the awesome, amazing StarrNight. :D**


	17. Chapter 17

Toris sat with his head in his hands. He was staring down at the dirty floorboards on which he sat, but his eyes might as well have been closed, for he didn't register it. In his head, like a bad dream repeating over and over, was a single scene. Despite all the chaos, he had seen what had happened so clearly, through all the fighting bodies and blur of movements, and he had been so completely helpless as he watched his captain go down.

He had only caught it out of the corner of his eye, the captain's sword flying through the air, but by the time he had turned around it was already too late. Alfred had stumbled backwards, stumbled too far and fallen to the cold, frothing water below. The image had branded itself on the insides of Toris' eyelids. He couldn't shake the feeling of having let his Captain, his best friend, down. He had failed to protect him; even though he had known of Alfred's state before the battle started, he had let the captain slip from his vision.

The quartermaster knew he wasn't alone in the feeling of complete loss, nor in the room for that matter, but the others left him alone. He sat leaning against the faintly curved wall of the ship, the others just a few feet away, but that was all the space they could give him and he had been thankful for it. Somewhere in his mind he knew he was highest ranking among them now, and that with Alfred gone they would all look to him, but it didn't matter anymore. Toris had stopped remembering that the others were there a long time ago already.

Caught in the mercy of his own unforgiving guilt and hopelessness, he didn't hear the light tap of footsteps. He didn't hear the shuffle of feet to make way for a person nearing him after leaving him alone for two days, or the soft sigh of clothes as someone sat down next to him. Toris wasn't at all aware he was no longer alone until a hand landed gently on his shoulder.

He jumped, immediately jerked out of his thoughts as his head snapped up. For a moment his heart raced, then calmed as he recognised the intruder to be no one dangerous.

"James," he said, sinking back against the wall. The echo of the battle was still so loud that the instinct of attack and self-defence remained close to the surface, their location doing nothing to ease the natural reaction.

The navigator offered a smile, briefly squeezing Toris' shoulder. "It will be okay," he said. "We will pull through. We have seen worse situations like this before, after all." Toris smiled bleakly, but had to wonder, as James sat down next to him, which one of them the navigator was actually trying to comfort the most.

"Of course."

He didn't say that they had always had Alfred to lead them out of tight binds. They didn't need the reminder, any of them. So they stayed in silence, locked in the brig of a pirate ship.

* * *

><p>Cold. Pain. Water everywhere. He was suffocating. A gleaming of metal…there had been metal piercing flesh. Who had been attacked? Oh… right… himself. A double-edged blade had forced an entrance to the depth on his midriff, carving a trail through frail, red, mushy flesh, agony like electric bursts with long fingers roaming his body at will. And darkness, darkness pushing in, water rushing over, under, at every side, lifting him up, pressing him down. He couldn't breathe. Pain, pain, <em>indescribable pain <em>racking through him. He couldn't take the weight. His chest would cave in!

Alfred sat up with a jerk. A loud, ragged gasp tore through the silent air. His hands fumbled blindly, found his fest, clawed at the shirt, and ripped it open, fingers digging into his skin. He was dying – he would die! His chest- his chest- his chest- the _pain_. He thrashed violently, he couldn't see, only hear – _thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud_ –, water drowning out everything, drowning out him.

Then there was something on him, a force fighting against him, something covering his mouth. He tried twisting away, evading this new intrusion, but it didn't let him go. His hands left his own skin, fumbling for this _other_. His fingers hit something and he grabbed it. He clutched onto something cool and soft-hard and moist and tried forcing it away, but he was weak, too weak.

"-_red_."

Something distant just barely reached his mind through the rush in his ears.

"-_fre-_."

He became suddenly aware of it, tried to listen, but he was losing the fight against the foreign force.

"_Alferd!_ Alfred, listen to me!"

Then – he could see. His eyes, their edges hurting from the strain of having been wide open the entire time, saw edges, contours in the soft darkness around him. A shadow was blocking out most of his surroundings and he looked up at it. Despite the lack of light, the green eyes that met his shone in the dark and Alfred finally stopped moving all together.

The thing- no, the _person_, for that was what it was, a living person atop him, let out a breath of relief. It rolled off him and sat next to him instead, Alfred's hands slipping from its shoulders in the process. That was what he had gripped, except the shoulders seemed to be covered in something, it was hard to make out. A blanket most likely.

"It's alright, you're safe, you're alive, but you need to quiet," the person's voice was soft but with an edge of urgency. The cover over his mouth – a hand, Alfred noticed – had still not been removed. Another hand brushed his hair gently out of his face, stroking it, as the person's glance darted around. Alfred let the notion soothe him, lull him into relaxation, noticing how heavy his body was and ignoring the other's tenseness. Everything was quiet around them; his groggy mind couldn't find a reason for worry. His gaze left the shadow-clad person to glide drowsily through what he could see of their surroundings, which wasn't very much, just different shapes and big objects. Everything was out of focus, his head still swimming, but it didn't bother him. He was barely teetering on the edge of consciousness, his vision even spinning ever so slightly, but it was fine, for he knew he was safe. The hand over his mouth slid away as he fell still.

After a while he looked back up at the person, its green eyes the only thing he could clearly make out. His gaze rested there, the soft caress of his hair continuing, and somehow he found it not the least bit strange or awkward as he didn't look away.

"Arthur," he finally said. A faint smile, in truth barely a twitch in the corners of his mouth, came to his face as he said the name and the person above him nodded. He didn't know when the realisation had struck, it could have been a long time ago already or the very moment he spoke, though it didn't make any difference. The merman stopped his soundless caress and for a time they sat motionlessly.

A thought or a question grazed Alfred, mixed with confusion. What was Arthur doing there? His sleep-drugged mind was mostly blank, too dazed to conjure anything of substance. He knew Arthur had gone, Arthur had been gone for a long time, yet now he was there, right next to him. Alfred's eyes fell from the merman in lack of energy and it was with a drunken little rock of the head that he refocused on the face and the green orbs. He tried to make sense of the situation, though it was like walking through a maze blindfolded, but as he tried to peer through the hazy mess of his thoughts, words suddenly came to him. They felt strange and he wondered if they were his, yet at the same time they made sense. They fit, so he spoke them.

"_I have forgotten why I called thee back._"

Arthur quickly hushed him, and Alfred frowned. The merman hadn't seemed to have heard what he had said at all. He repeated the line and Arthur pressed his hand to Alfred's mouth again, sending him a confused and pointed look, as though telling a child to be quiet. Alfred wriggled, not understanding the reason for Arthur's strange behaviour, and as he refused to lie still – however weak his little ministrations of rebellion was – the merman turned his full attention to him. Before he could say anything, Alfred was already catching his eyes and staring intently back, _willing_ Arthur to answer.

It was the merman's turn to frown. Looking somewhat unwilling, he paused, observed Alfred, then realisation or a recognition of sorts, crossed his features and his brows shot up. He looked a tad disbelieving, but as Alfred smiled sluggishly up at him – the only kind of smile he was able to muster at the moment –, he could see Arthur huff soundlessly, giving in and indulging him all the same. He sat up a little, threw a look around – at what, Alfred didn't know, he couldn't see from where he lay. Then he lowered back down behind the big, dark objects they were positioned behind and gently removed the hand from Alfred's lips.

"_Let me stand here till thou remember it," _he whispered, his voice just as soft as before and Alfred wished he could listen to it always without stop. A tiny notion in the back of his mind told him the words were not Arthur's, but he liked them. The reply came to him effortlessly and he liked it too, it felt right, so he pushed the earlier notion away.

"_I shall forget, to have thee still stand here, remembering how I love thy company._" He found the hand that had fallen still by his head, taking it in his own. He was too weak to squeeze it, however faintly, but let his own hand rest by it regardless. Arthur didn't move, didn't react, only dutifully replied in a low voice after a split second of listening to the quiet.

"_And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this._"

Had he the energy, Alfred would grin; a fuzzy warmth bubbled in his chest at the words, engulfing his entire body. Instead, he let his eyes roam what little he could see of the room again – dark wood and what looked like big crates, barrels, and bags. He should ask for how long he was asleep, a faint thought suggested, but he was not really worried about it so he let it be. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered what part of the day it was, as he could find no windows. It made him frown and the memory of his crew was shortly brought to attention, but it too was only a passing thought and slipped away soon enough to be forgotten for now.

In a momentary loss of focus his eyes rolled back in his head before he looked back up at the beautiful green. He wanted to touch it, but it took several tries. When his hand finally lifted, its course was far from steady. Fingertips met with cool, smooth skin, and Alfred marvelled at it, enjoying the feel.

"'_Tis almost morning,_" he whispered, for he was unable to speak any louder, a weary exhale of breath following his words. "_I would have thee gone: and yet no further than a wanton's bird; who lets it hop a little from his hand, like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, and with a link thread plucks it back again, so loving-jealous of its liberty._" He dragged his fingertips slowly from Arthur's jaw to his cheekbone, tracing the ear and threading his fingers into hair that, for once, was dry. His palm cupped the merman's cheek and he rubbed his thumb once over the pale skin. His mind told him he knew the reply, waited for it to come, but Arthur didn't deliver it right away. The smallest crease appeared between the merman's brows and he looked reluctant for a moment. He shut his eyes, pulling in a deep breath as his eyebrows tightened. But then his face relaxed again with a soundless sigh and very, very lightly he nuzzled his cheek against the big, calloused hand.

"_I would I were thy bird_," he muttered so very quietly.

"_Sweet, so would I," _and unbeknownst to him, Alfred's expression turned warmer, fonder, as he rubbed his thumb over Arthur's skin again. "_Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow._"

Alfred's vision was dimming in the already dark room and his eyelids were growing steadily heavier, but he strived to stay awake, if only for a little while longer. Urges went directly from desire to hand, without going through his mind first, and as he watched the creature in front of him, he gave it no thought as his hand slid down to Arthur's throat and around.

It took a bit of effort as he had to halfway sit up in order to hook his arm around the other's neck, and it was with an exhausted groan that he flopped unceremoniously back down on what had to be a blanket under his back, his catch securely tucked to him. There was a hoarse gasp of surprise at the sudden action, but little else, and Alfred curled his other arm around Arthur's waist. He knew he was too weak to hold the merman there should he protest, but Arthur didn't, and Alfred hugged him tighter with what little strength he had.

Over them lay the wet blanket Arthur was wearing, but Alfred didn't care that it made Arthur's skin moist or that it made him even cooler to the touch than normal. Alfred just wanted that smooth, lean body against him, to hold him in his arms and never have to let go again. So, that was exactly what he did, and he couldn't see why he shouldn't –or why he hadn't before. He buried his face in the nape of Arthur's neck, breathing in the scent of salty ocean and fresh winds and everything he cherished. There was a tinge of something else, mixed in with the other scents, he couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he didn't dislike it. Rather the opposite.

He loosened the arm around Arthur's middle and instead ran his fingers gently over the merman's back, tracing slow patterns on his skin. If it had been possible, he knew he wouldn't mind staying like that forever.

"Sleep," Arthur's soft voice drifted its way into his ear, like a mild, tender breeze, a whispered suggestion and Alfred's lids slid close without him noticing. Soon effortless sleep welcomed him and the last of his awareness of the real world let go.

* * *

><p>Corey glared darkly at the padlock on the prison door as though it had personally offended him. He glanced over at the quartermaster and navigator in the identical prison cage vis-á-vis his. Two pirate guards were walking around them, leisurely sauntering between the two cages, much like predators who knew they had all the time in the world. They amused themselves at the navy crew's expense, not that anyone was listening, but it was still irritating not to be able to at least talk amongst themselves to pass the time.<p>

Four days they had been there, and Toris had snapped out of his downward spiral yesterday. None had blamed him as he had known Alfred longer than any of them, however, they were still on duty and that required them all to stay professional and leave personal feelings out of it.

The pirates had attempted interrogating them, taking one and then another of them from the brig to be returned hours later with fresh cuts and bruises blooming on their skin. James had been taken once, the youngest carpenter Daniel, and Toris too, as well as a few other men. The pirates had wanted to know what their mission had entailed, where they had been, and where they were headed, in addition to any other general information on the government. When the navy men didn't offer up anything, they had in the end stopped. It hardly mattered anyway. The pirates had the navy ship, their loot had been more than satisfactory, and Corey and the rest would be sold as slaves. This the pirate captain's quartermaster had told them, eyeing them emotionlessly, the one time he had deigned to enter the brig. Three pirates had been standing behind him, in addition to the two that were always on guard, and they had shoved at each other lightly before one of them mumbled in the stoic man's ear. A shadow of distaste seemed to pass over his face at what he was told, but he shrugged and nodded regardless. Charles, one of the carpenters, had then been taken from the prison, sharing knowing glances with the others. However, as the day trudged on, he had not been returned.

Now Toris stood by the front wall of his prison. His and Corey's eyes met. Not even the slightest nod was given that could be snapped up by the pirates, but Corey got his consent anyway. The day was meeting its end and it was time to prove they were Alfred F. Jones' chosen crew for a reason.

* * *

><p>Groaning…the creak of moving wood and the scent of salt...the tell-tale rocking of a ship and the sound of a faint voice vanishing in the distance was what met Alfred when he was gently shaken awake. He had the impression he had been sleeping for a long time and his head felt better than it had in a long time. It sent a pleased tingle of well-being through an otherwise stiff and aching body. This puzzled him for a moment as his eyes fluttered open and he rubbed them, half sitting up, only to be pushed down again, kindly but firmly. There was hard wooden floor beneath him, a thin blanket the only thing between him and it, which explained a bit. He frowned and gradually focus came back to him in the dark room he was in. He could tell it was day from the quality of the dark, but also that he was under water level by the lack of daylight. Then he saw-<p>

"_Arthur?_" he exclaimed, grinning widely and gaping incredulously at the same time. A hand was immediately clapped over his mouth, cutting off his "What are yo-" If his eyes got any wider, he felt certain his eyeballs would roll right out of his skull. The glare the merman sent him however was so sharp that any sound, or desire to make sound, died in his throat. His head was beginning to spin. This was just becoming stranger and stranger.

After waiting for what felt like ages, Arthur peeked over a few crates next to them, looked around, then ducked back down. "_Not. A. Sound_," he mouthed. Alfred nodded mutely. Arthur took his hand away.

"I couldn't let you sleep any longer," he muttered so quietly Alfred nearly couldn't hear him. "We have come too close to being found twice. If you want a chance at rescuing your crew and ship, getting caught won't exactly help." Now Alfred's head was definitely spinning. He tried to make sense of the merman's whispered words.

"Do you not remember anything?" Arthur then said, frowning at Alfred's look of complete loss. "You were foolish enough to get in a fight with pirates, and _someone_ managed to nearly get himself killed. Half of your crew is trapped in the pirate ship."

Alfred's eyes narrowed at the mention of pirates. In an instant, the drowsiness of just having awoken was replaced with sharpening senses as his brain abruptly snapped to work. He was in his own ship, the storage room on the third level to be exact. He couldn't see much of where they were, but he saw enough. _Half his crew was in the pirate ship_, that meant they had lost, and since his ship was not on the bottom of the ocean it meant she was being sailed by pirates. The thought made his lips curl up in a silent snarl.

He couldn't understand what Arthur was doing here – or even that he _was_ here –or how they had gotten to this hiding spot, but this was clearly not the time to figure it out. He could get the story later, once they were in safety.

"Where's the _other_ half of my crew?"

"In the brig of this ship," Arthur answered. Alfred nodded; that made sense. To disable communication was the first and best way to prevent organised resistance. Alfred would have done the same thing. It also made rescuing them a whole lot harder, seeing as Alfred would have to get into both his own _and_ the pirates' brig unseen, not to mention board a pirate ship without being discovered. On the positive side, he thought as he glanced around, since they had control of the ship the pirates hadn't bothered move all the cargo. That meant there was a high chance Alfred could find the weapons' armoury still intact.

"For how long was I asleep?" Alfred whispered, already mapping out plans in his head. He wondered briefly how they had been captured, imagining his men would sooner fight to the death than be taken prisoner. Alfred doubted the casualties had been few. He needed to find out who had died, and for a short, harsh moment he wondered if he still had a quartermaster. He would know soon enough.

"Four days," Arthur replied, and Alfred puckered his lips in a muted whistle. "But," Arthur added slowly, peering at the captain from the corner of his eye. "You did wake up for a little two days ago." Alfred's eyebrows lifted.

"Did I?" he said. "I can't remember."

If there was a quick glance sent his way, he didn't catch it. Gently rubbing his chest and midriff, he sifted quickly through what he could recall of the battle to look for anything helpful. All he knew was that he had been about to die – that he _should_ be dead. Right now. Cold and pale, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Yet there he was, in his own ship four days later with nothing but a dull stiffness where the blade had pierced him. He was tempted to ask what had happened, the question was burning on the tip of his tongue, but that would have to wait too.

He tried sitting up again, this time not stopped by his watery guardian, and peeked over the crates. Nothing but more of his storage room met him, and the evidence of someone helping themselves to their food supplies.

"It's nearing dinner time and it will be dark soon enough. You had better go find weapons and a way to get your crew back," Arthur said, clearly having followed the same thought pattern as Alfred.

"I will need more than weapons," Alfred muttered. "I need a way to get into the pirate ship." A frown deepened on his brow. That would certainly be a rather big challenge. He couldn't just get in a long boat and expect to be able to catch up with a large sail ship by the power of rowing. Arthur however, disregarded this with a wave of the hand.

"Just swim, you will be fine. Now get going. I will find another place to hide; I dare not stay in this spot any longer."

Alfred stared, both his brows shooting up high. Arthur ignored him and began rearranging himself. Alfred quickly reached out for Arthur, still perplexed, though intending to lift him to find somewhere else to hide him, but the merman swatted his hands lightly. "I'll manage on my own, get going." The navy captain couldn't get any more surprised than he already was. At the baffled expression on Alfred's face as he looked demonstratively to the merman's tail, Arthur just rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Are you certain you will be all right?" Alfred asked, doubt dripping off every word, not seeing how the merman was supposed to move even two inches on his own. But Arthur just sniffed, sounding offended.

"Of course. I am not helpless, I'll have you know. Just tell me when you are ready to go." He shoved Alfred's shoulder and Alfred decided to let the merman have his way for now. He got up into a crouch with a wince and a grimace, ignoring the little arcs of pulsing pain spurring from his middle at the move. Then he climbed over the crate and began moving soundlessly through the storage, stopping every few seconds to listen for guards or a hungry pirate.

He reached the armoury without being spotted, having had to hide only three times. By the third pirate, a plan had formed in his head. It wasn't so much a plan as a gamble, he supposed, but it was all he had.

Half the weapons had been removed, for what reason was anyone's guess, but Alfred didn't stay to muse over it. He stocked up on as many weapons he could carry – pistols, swords, knives, and a few hand bombs – without making him too heavy to stealthily sneak around his own ship. That didn't stop him from looking like nothing short of a walking sword rack when he left the armoury, though. He had been forced to flatten himself to the floor behind a few bags of gun powder when two pirates had entered, idly browsing through what was there. They had begun arguing about a sword on the wall, calling it spoils of plundering and obviously not coming to agreement over who had the right to it.

Safely away from any pirates, Alfred found a safe spot in the bottom of the ship. Shielded by cargo, in a different spot from where he had been with the merman before, he settled in for a couple hours of waiting, tucking the weapons close to him in the most comfortable manner hard metal objects could manage.

Alfred stared into the dark, and though he couldn't actually hear it, the sound of invading feet soiling _his_ ship resounded in his mind's ears. However, the thought didn't make him angry – well, it did – but mostly made his blood rush with suppressed adrenaline. He could barely contain himself, passing the time with memories of how often he had found himself in similar situations. Truly, he was perhaps the most unconventional captain in the navy, a strange wild card more than anything. He and his crew were deployed where others reached short. They always got results and he supposed it was because he relished situations like these.

But right now he waited, bided his time. He knew there would be guards waiting outside the brig. Taking them out wouldn't be a problem, but once that had been done he would have started the clock; it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed something wasn't entirely as it should be. Alfred needed to be as close to freeing the other half of his crew by that time as possible.

* * *

><p>James snarled and banged his hands on the iron bars as though boundlessly angered by what the pirates had said – Corey hadn't been listening, he didn't know what it was the navigator was reacting to. Not that it mattered.<p>

"Come closer and say that again," James said in a calm sneer that promised pain. The pirates laughed.

"Yes, wouldn't you like that."

They dished out their degrading comments, one after the other, the navy crew stomping the floor, kicking the bars and yelling profanities. Every now and again the pirates would glance to the other cage and, from his hiding spot at the back of the group in the cell, Corey got small glimpses of them. They had a lazy posture, looking greatly amused, yet gave off the impression of being experienced with exactly this kind of situation.

They didn't move a muscle, standing perfectly still in the middle between the two cages, just out of reach from either prison. They never took a single step forward or backward; they didn't even flinch when the boatswain hurled the small three legged stool their prison had been equipped with at the iron bars with a roar – they had only laughed.

Unbeknownst to the pirates however, Corey's crew's ministrations of rage didn't actually have any genuine anger behind it, not until mentions of Alfred were suddenly made. A jolt seemed to invisibly pass through the crew, like an electric current. Corey could feel it like a prickling making the hairs on neck stand on end, how everything got an extra edge to it, another layer of something slightly less contained in his mates. Nevertheless, they all knew better than to mess up now, though Corey could imagine their mental battles to restrain themselves so as not to lose all sense of rational thought – even his hands trembled slightly as he worked. Only Toris had stopped moving all together, a detached look glazing over his features. Corey only saw it a split second before a sailor blocked his view and he returned to his task.

The final minutes before he was done felt like a man's age, but then it was finished; in his hands everyone's belts were fastened together into one long leash. Armed with this makeshift rope he snuck to the front of the cage. This part was crucial, it would decide whether they would make it or break it. The quartermaster and the others would have to make such a racket the two pirates would never think of looking back. Corey caught James' eyes; it was time to turn it up a notch.

The navigator gave it a couple of seconds, then made a great show of stopping and looking to the left, staring at Toris as though only now noticing him. The quartermaster, who by now had been standing relatively still for a while, appeared temporarily oblivious. James shoved him.

"_Hey_," he growled. "Why are you just standing there? That's the captain they're insulting!" Toris shrugged unimpressed. Corey had to suppress a smile, their quartermaster was one of the gentlest people he knew, but Toris could pull off a mean glare if he wanted to.

"Well, he didn't make you bend to his every ridiculous craving, now did he? I signed up to be a soldier of the navy, not to run errands for a child. Now that he is dead, why do I need to defend his honour?" Narrowed eyes replaced the initiate look of shock on James' face, and before anyone had time to react, he had balled up his fist and hit Toris square in the jaw. The corners of Corey's mouth twitched upward and he noticed the sailor next to him flinch – that hit would hurt tomorrow. However, Toris knew as well as any of them that the one thing pirates like better than prisoners helplessly beating up their cages was prisoners beating up each other.

As the fight fully broke out, giving the crew the rare display of Toris getting down to fighting with his bare hands – though he was for the most part just dodging James' punches – Corey stuck his hands out through the iron bars and began quickly and silently feeding the belt-rope through two openings a bit away from each other. The two guards were far too busy ooh-ing and laughing at the fight to notice the cook, who soon had two equal lengths of belt on either side of him and the middle part of the belt looping down on the outside of the cage wall. He had his hands out through the bars, held onto the belt, and started swinging the loop slowly. Behind him on either side two sailors were holding onto each their end of the leash as they would be able to jerk it back faster than Corey could. He set his jaw; he would only have one shot at this.

He caught James' eyes again and the two brawling men tumbled off to the side of the cage, giving way to an until now unnoticed man, who at the clear passage granted, took a step forward and threw something. Hard and fast the projectile swished through the room, hitting the opposite cage as the pirate at whom it was aimed dodged. The pirate cocked a brow, a smugly triumphant look of superiority shining in his eyes, though it disappeared before it could even settle properly on his face. Corey had flung the belt loop up and out; whilst the object hadn't hit the pirate, it had momentarily drawn his attention away from everything else. Still just out of reach for their hands, the leash looped over the pirate, much like an endearing lady capturing a man with her veil. Too late the pirate realised what was going on. The two sailors behind Corey each yanked their end back as hard and far as they could go, and the pirate was smashed into the iron bars, trapped snuggly by the belts around his middle.

The other pirate yelled in alarm and anger, but Corey's fingers were nimble and quick and he had the trapped pirate's pistol in his hand in the wink of an eye. Even as the free pirate was lifting his own weapon, he was already dead. The pirate still alive thrashed relentlessly, but for the moment he was held fast by two sailors and the homemade rope. Corey loosened the prison keys from the pirate's belt and had the crew free moments later.

James grabbed the thrashing pirate, who had been tied to the iron bars, by the hair and smashed his head back. With a last painful groan the man slumped in his ties. Toris took the pistol from the dead man on the floor and surveyed his crew mates' handiwork. Everyone's attention turned to him and he nodded resolutely, letting his gaze slide over them as a black patch began forming around his right eye. "Good work," he said. "Time to return to our ship."

Swift and quick as shadows, the men made their way through the vessel, grabbing what weapons they could find on the way, and climbing the stairs with bent backs and watchful eyes. Not far outside the brig they had run into three pirates rummaging through some bags for weapons the crew recognised to originally belong to them. The pirate's faces had been disturbingly familiar. The two remaining carpenters, Mark and Daniel, had made short work of the three, despite being outnumbered, the others standing back to watch with grim faces a ferocity hardly anything could call forth in the two men.

Finally, the crew reached the top and burst out onto the main deck. The crisp night air that met them was like a blessing, a fresh wind stroking across their skin, and for a short moment they had to stop and just breathe. Corey opened his mouth to pull in the deepest breath his lungs would allow, and as it filled him up, it was like entering a new world, clear and alive and such a strong contrast to the brig down below. The reaction however, as the door remained wide open behind them, was instant. All movement ceased. Disbelieving surprise was obvious on the pirates' faces, even in the lack of daylight, but it lasted only a split second. They hefted their weapons and neared with threatening, deliberate steps.

Corey's slightly oversized belly – he preferred to refer to it as healthy –, that would normally be covered in an off-white apron at the moment missing, bounced as the cook bellowed,

"_Take the helm!_"

It was like the go signal for a race, as the pirates hurled themselves at the escaping prisoners. There were more than enough men coming toward the navy crew to put a permanent stopper on their shot at freedom, but they didn't feel disheartened. Instead, they raised their voices in defiance and the pirates answered in kind in rage. The group of navy sailors kept tight, brandishing what they had of axes, swords and fire power as they began the fight for the quarterdeck, and not long after the fight had begun, they heard the sound of a large, loud bell ring out across the ship; whoever had still been unaware of the mayhem on deck were now warned and would come running.

* * *

><p>When Alfred set foot in the brig, the reaction was priceless – or at least that was what he had thought. Grinning widely, he had taken quite a lot of pleasure in watching his crew go slack-jawed and stutter after first just staring dumbly in disbelief as he had strolled in and unlocked their cages. Several were still speechless by the time he fitted them with weapons, and Alfred winked at the weapon's master whom, after gaping like a fish, just managed to utter a stunned "C…captain…" Alfred laughed, patting the weapon's master under the chin.<p>

"Pick up your jaw, Andrew, everything will be explain in due time, but first we need to do something about this," and he had gesticulated around the brig in general. Several of the men had looked lightheaded and nearly scared when Alfred neared them. He didn't feel offended by this though, as their reactions were understandable, and so he just smiled at them and said a cheerful "_hello_". Though that hadn't seemed to help much.

When he was done with his crewmembers, he undressed one of the pirate guards he had taken out upon entry and gave a summarised version of what was going on as he changed his clothes. Now, pirates dressed in whatever garment they stole from their victims, which meant that many of them looked like rouge navy officers, so technically Alfred's clothes would not attract attention. But there was no need taking more risks than highly necessary. Besides, why ruin his own clothes when he could ruin others'? His shirt was also in a rather bad shape from the fight, and he had thrown it to the side with a sigh.

Alfred didn't mention Arthur, deciding that piece of information would, at the moment, do more harm than good. As a matter of fact, he didn't go into how he came to be there at all.

"I know you are confused, and that is understandable. However, for now, all you need to know is that I am here and alive. We must focus on the task at hand." This seemed to reach through to them, and in the blink of an eye, the crew around him were changed. Alfred fastened to his hip the sword he had picked out for himself. "I will sneak aboard the pirate ship and find the others. Meanwhile, I need you to stay low. The longer the pirates remain ignorant, the better. I doubt this will end peacefully, so it should be quite clear when you will be needed. Stand by until then." He eyed their serious faces, and though they nodded and he knew they would follow his instructions to the letter, he could see in their eyes how him being _there_ was challenging their sanity. He let a warm smile tweak the corners of his lips and put his hand on the closest sailor's shoulder.

"Don't worry, boys," he said. "Pa will go get your brothers and we will all be together safe and sound before you know it." The men glanced at each other.

"What is your plan?" Andrew asked. A full grin broke out on Alfred's face.

"Plan?" he said, opening the door to the brig. "Why, don't get killed, of course." He saluted merrily, then took off, and in his mind he could picture them shaking their heads and sharing lopsided smiles as they had so many times before. Then again, his act of defying death might have shaken them up too much, he didn't know. He soundlessly headed for the second gun deck. Toris had not been amongst the crewmembers in the brig, but he had pushed it from his mind, having followed his own advice of staying focused.

He kept throwing glances around, treading carefully and silently from years of experience as he stole over to the nearest cannon in the dark. He positioned his back to the wall and pushed the cannon back as far as it would go in its chains, staring intently around the room as he hoped there was no one near enough to hear the squeak of the wheels. When there was enough space, he shimmied in between the wall and the cannon barrel, opening the hatch leading outside. He glanced down, looked back one last time, then wriggled out of the opening. He briefly hung from his fingers, grumbling under his breath that Arthur had better be right – or that he had better have understood Arthur right – before he let go.

The water hit him as deadly cold as it had before, sending his mind and body into an momentary flashback as phantom pain shot through his midriff. But long before his lungs had time to scream for air and the waves to push him down, he could feel the water grabbing him. It surged with life and a will of its own around him, pushing him, guiding him forwards toward the pirate ship sailing slightly ahead. He was even brought around it to the other side, so that he could not accidentally be spotted from his own ship as he, with help from billows building up under him, scaled the shipside and climbed in through one of the cannon hatches.

Once inside he took a moment to still his breathing and wring water from his clothes. He sat crouched with his back leaning against a cannon, hid out of sight should someone come up or down the stairs located toward the other end of the gun deck. In his head he mapped out the ship, planning his route and going through scenarios of where and when he might run into someone. The pirate vessel was slightly smaller than his own ship, faster, but not so different on the inside, he thought.

Alfred had just decided to leave his hiding place to move on when he froze. _Oh God. _Three men were walking along between the row of cannons, headed for the stairs. Alfred could see them clearly; there was nothing obscuring the view between him and them. They were in plain sight, which meant he was too. How he had not been spotted already seemed impossible.

Alfred didn't move, didn't even breathe. He had dropped his gaze, looking at where the wall met the floor next to the hatch. The three pirates strolled leisurely and far too slowly for his liking. He could see them in his peripheral vision, but focused all his attention on _not_ seeing them. He prayed they were still in a state of ease from their victory over the navy, not expecting anything to happen and not looking for anything out of the ordinary. They would move on, they would not spot him, they would remain blind to what was right in front of them.

They were only three cannons away now. Two. One. They were next to him, so close Alfred could have grabbed the closest man's knee if he reached out. For one horrible second, he thought he felt the hair-raising sensation of eyes on him. There was a halt in their conversation. Alfred's muscles wanted to tense, to prepare for movement, but he forced himself to remain relaxed and still.

Then the men were past him, one of them having stumbled and the two others having laughed. They got to the stairs, and Alfred listened as they headed down. He remained motionless behind the cannon for minutes, long after silence had returned and then even longer before he dared move. Bracing his hands on the floor he chanced a glance over the cannon. No one there. He got to his feet and prepared to move slowly, crouched low, toward the stairs as the pirates had done.

However, even before he was halfway there, Alfred hesitated and looked back in the direction the pirates had first come from. He had to hurry, he had stayed in one place for too long as it was, and time was running out. Yet something made him turn back and steal silently through the dark to the back end of the gun deck, while his gut clenched ominously.

When he reached the back wall, he stopped. Barely visible in the lack of light, half draped over a cannon, lay a body. Alfred searched it quickly with his eyes – he recognised the clothes, even though they had been ripped and were covered in dark stains. He stepped closer to the body and crouched down. Something tacky made his shoes stick slightly to the floorboards with every step and move. Gingerly reaching out, he cradled the head in his hand, turning it so he could see the person's face. It was bruised and swollen, and the jaw looked broken. But Alfred could still recognise the face of Charles, one of his carpenters.

Alfred brushed moist, sticky hair gently out of the sailor's face. His teeth gritted, the muscles of his arms flexing uncontrollably. Glancing once in the direction of the stairs that he couldn't see from where he was, he eased the body of his dead man to the floor. He pulled the cannon out as far as it would go and opened the hatch. Lifting the body from the floor, he held it for a moment in his arms, the muscles of his face taunt as he let his eyes glide over the battered body one last time. Then, as gently as was possible, he manoeuvred the body through the open hatch and let it drop to the sea below. It wasn't much of a burial, but he would not leave his dead comrade to rot in a pirate ship.

Not long after, he heard the sound of several people coming up the stairs, and though he doubted anyone would be able to spot him in the dark, he still ducked behind the cannon he had moved. They numbered quite a few, and he wondered if they had somehow heard the splash of Charles' body hitting the water, even though they came from the level below him. If anyone heard it – he couldn't be bothered caring if anyone had – he would have expected it to be someone from outside. Regardless, the group of men (Alfred assumed they were men, seeing as female pirates were rather rare, most believing it to be bad luck to have women on ships) passed by the deck he was on and climbed upwards. He waited until they were on the level above, deciding he had wasted enough time, and hurried to the stairs. He could still hear them over him, but he was so swift down the stairs that he was certain they didn't see him. His blood was boiling and was probably the reason for his suddenly lessened caution – in truth, only the thought of his crew kept him from drawing his sword then and there and pursuing the group. But, he told himself, he was glad he now wouldn't run into that large mob on a lower level.

Alfred moved from the stairs as soon as he could, so he wouldn't be visible should someone look down, and tried to get an overview of the deck he was now on. It was far too dark, even for his eyes that had now gotten used to the lack of light. The brig should be down here, he was quite certain, but before he could see a door, he spotted big, slumped shadows by the wall. Though the heap was nearly shapeless, he could see it was made up of several bodies once he took a step closer. Three to be exact. Feeling dread fill his stomach and with foreboding making his face hardened, he neared them and lifted one of their heads to see the face. He didn't recognise it. The face was nothing but shadows, but it didn't belong to anyone in his crew, of that he was without a doubt.

It was with relief that he let go of the dead body, but on the other hand, this also made him wonder what he should make of it. Did the pirates have more prisoners than just his crew? Or could these three dead men be pirates? That made absolutely no sense whatsoever. However, his musings were cut short by a muffled, ringing sound. It sounded like it came from far away, and it took several moments before Alfred recognised it to be a bell. A warning bell. All warmth drained from his body and then his thoughts were rushing. He had been discovered. He realised now that the sound was coming from the outdoor deck, where the sound would be much louder as well, and all he could understand was that the group he had passed must have spotted him after all and for some reason opted not to chase him down right away. Abandoning the three dead bodies, Alfred ran to the right of the stairs, finding the door to the brig and swinging it open.

It was empty. Alfred was so perplexed by the sight he nearly fell over, stopping abruptly in the doorway. On the floor lay another dead body, accompanied by a man tied to the iron sprinkles of the left cage. Alfred could only assume he was dead as well – no, wait, on closer inspection he could see the man's chest move steadily.

"What on earth…?" he muttered, looking at the rope the man was tied with. But it was not a rope at all; it was a long leash of belts. He picked up one end, turning it in his hand, then, of all things, a puzzled smile came to his face. He knew this leash, in more ways than one, as a matter of fact. For one, he recognised the belts, which were all alike, to be from navy uniforms. For the second, he had made the exact same thing himself one and a half years ago when they had needed to get from a quarterdeck down into a couple of longboats.

Alfred swivelled on his heels. His crew had already escaped, _that_ was what the bell had been for. He needed to catch up with them at once. But his road was blocked. For the second time he stopped dead in his step; in the door stood the blond pirate with the upside-down cross in his hair, a lantern in his hand making the shadows deeper and light dance inconstantly around them.

The pirate eyed the empty prison cages, though remained as emotionless as Alfred remembered him. Around his hip rested a sword and two pistols, Alfred made a mental note of it. Then the pirate set his eyes on him, looking him up and down.

"Did you help them escape?" the pirate asked. Alfred could feel his body tense, preparing for a fight. "Or did you run and hide?" the pirate carried on and lifted one brow. "I notice you haven't shared the fate of your mates."

Alfred blinked. Stared. _What_? "Sorry." It just dumbly fell out of him. The pirate clicked his tongue with disapproval, but that was also all.

"Get to the main deck." He stepped to the side, still not betraying any emotion, yet Alfred got the impression there was an undertone deeply hidden that promised punishment to come that any and every member of the pirate crew would have known. Quickly, jerking into action and putting a secure lid on his surprise, Alfred hurried out of the brig. He could hardly believe his luck – his little disguise had worked, he was still wet even, surely that was strange? Then again, he was supposed to be dead, so no one would expect to see his face again, and it was quite dark down there, even with the pirate's lantern.

Alfred got as far as three steps from the brig door. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

"How did you survive?"

Ah, so much for luck. A grin slid onto Alfred's face. "Have you not heard? Navy captains are immortal." He raised both his hands, turning around slowly, still grinning. The pirate's eyes were narrowed – quite the expressional feat for the stoic man, Alfred thought.

"In seconds you would have been too far away for anyone to rescue you." He scanned Alfred, mind probably working a mile a second, the pistol remaining firmly aimed at Alfred's head.

"As I said," Alfred shrugged, hands still lifted. "Immortal." He threw in a charming wink for good measure even though he, under the surface, felt a familiar heat build up again, then instantly wondered if he had pushed too far, judging by the dead unimpressed look on the pirate's face.

"I take it my men wouldn't talk to you even despite your hospitable treatment." Alfred couldn't help it. He had said it before he had time to think, the word laced with suppressed anger and resentment. The image of Charles was clear before him, refusing to leave, pushing any other thought out of his head. He could but think this pirate had _something_ to do with it, he seemed to carry a certain weight on this ship of abominations and that made him automatically responsible, one way or the other.

It took a lot of willpower to keep his hands from balling into fists or grabbing for his sword. However, no matter how angry he was, he was not stupid. He had a pistol pointed at his head; he wouldn't even get one step.

The pirate, on the other hand, looked confused, if such a thing was possible. Though in truth, all he did was stand there, eyes boring into Alfred as though he would could see written words in him, not saying anything for a long while. Silence reigned there in the deep of the vessel until the pirate leaned his weight slightly backwards and there was a twitch in his face.

"Oh, that." He had clocked onto what the navy captain meant, though regardless of whatever method of elimination he had used, he didn't ask how Alfred knew. "That had nothing to do with interrogations. Some of our men are more… _spirited_ than others. I find it's usually better to let them burn off some energy rather than try to restrain them. Makes them more pliable."

Alfred would have flown straight at him, pistol or no, but just then, without warning, the ship careened toward one side. It wasn't enough to rob either of them of their footing, but it _was_ enough to remind Alfred of the rest of his crew and head straight for the stairs in a sudden sprint. A shot rang out behind him, hitting wood not far from his head. He took the steps three and four at the time. The ship was turning, he was certain of it, and from the way the vessel was moving, Alfred could only understand someone must have grabbed the wheel and turned it as far as it would go in one direction, and he had a very good idea of who. What his crew were actually trying to do on the other hand, he had only a faint idea.

Another shot rang through the air and went straight through Alfred's thigh. He barely even let out a groan, only faltering slightly, setting his eyes decisively upwards and powering through the pain. It was, by far, not the first time he had been shot, and he needed to get out on the main deck. But he took the steps in twos now. On the plus side, the pirate had no more shots now, and to reload he would have to stop in his pursuit of Alfred. So long as Alfred could keep out of reach of a blade, he would be fine.

Just as he set foot on the steps leading from the upper gun level, the door leading outside ahead, a loud sound boomed all around. It vibrated in the woodwork; the ship jerking and shuddering violently. Alfred was smashed into the stairs, clutching onto it and just keeping him from falling as he rolled to the side. Looking around, the wall and floorboards offered no explanation.

Regaining his balance, Alfred bounded for the door. Heavy tremors still racked through the ship, accompanied by a loud grinding, groaning noise.

A hand stopped Alfred short, pulling him back. He twisted, a sword blade inches from his head, then abruptly gritting his teeth was all he could do not to cry out in pain as merciless pressure was added to his bad thigh. Fingers like steel buried themselves into the wound, and a raw scream was forcefully torn from Alfred's throat. He kicked blindly, found purchase and thrust himself up and backwards. He crashed into the door, fell into fresh air, hit the floor, rolled, got to his feet, ran.

The outside was in a state of chaos. Alfred didn't stop running, but taking in his surroundings in quick glances he realised what his crew had done. Still grinding against the pirate ship was his own ship, the woodwork of both vessels protesting loudly as they sailed in opposite directions, so close their sides scraped across one another. But the ships were only touching toward the back now, having almost passed by each other already, and over on his own main deck he could see crew members still getting to their feet after having jumped between the two ships upon impact.

Two throwing knives embedded themselves in the railing not far from Alfred. He threw a glance over his shoulder; the blond pirate was still hot on his tail, and _of course_ he had to be a master of all different kinds of weapons.

Alfred bounced up onto the forecastle, weaved between confused pirates, and jumped back down on the main deck on the other side, sprinting for the quarterdeck. Behind him, the blond pirate was barking orders for other pirates to stop him. Alfred drew his sword to repel attacks turned his way, but didn't stop for even a second.

He thundered toward the quarterdeck. His thigh sent pulses of white agony through him, but he paid it no heed. Jumping over the sword of someone who intended to take out his legs to stop him, he pushed off from the bent man's shoulder, landed in the middle of the stairs leading up to the helm, and continued running without halting.

Alfred sprinted past the helmsman. The ships had passed each other now and the distance was steadily increasing, one foot, three, feet, five- he let go of his sword, a pity, but he didn't want to accidentally skewer himself doing what he was about to do.

Without losing his stride, Alfred sprang onto the railing and kicked off with his good leg, launching himself into the air. Eyes firmly on the aft railing of his own ship, nothing but free air around him, stars above, black froth below, he was suspended between the two great vessels for several moments, automatically treading the air to keep steady. Then his hands slammed into the railing and he hung for a moment before he could find purchase with his feet, bullets furiously hitting the wood on either side of him. He found foothold, pushed off and swung himself over the rail.

No sooner were his feet on the deck did he take off again, patting a shocked pirate by the helm once on the shoulder, wanting to swiftly snap his neck but having to evade the blades of two others instead. He rushed down to where half his crew were fighting a human fence of pirates in front of the quarterdeck currently holding the helm. If only he had his sword, he could have attacked the pirates from behind and the helm would have been theirs in the matter of seconds. As it was, he was currently behind enemy lines, and while he was reckless at the best of times, he needed to find a weapon first.

He spotted James, and no later he was spotted himself by everyone else. Several surprised, shocked, disbelieving glances were shot his way, or at least by those who could spare it in the middle of fighting. Alfred just lifted his hand in a salute far too cheerful for the situation and grinned. He broke through the ranks of fighting men, narrowly escaping death three more times, and reached James, whom immediately accommodated his fight to shield his captain – even though he looked as staggered as the rest of the crew, and stumbled in places he would normally be flawless.

Alfred ripped a long strip of fabric from his shirt and, while tying it tight around his thigh above the wound, he said a short command of "_sword_". That seemed to pull his navigator out of his stupor. In a flash he had his opponent unarmed and collapsing and threw the sword to Alfred, who caught it mid-air. With his eyes, James expressed concern over the captain's leg, but Alfred waved him off and dove into the fray on the main deck.

It was shaping up to look a lot like the fight four days ago, but as Alfred met the first blade with his own, he promised himself it would end very differently this time. A few minutes in he spotted Toris by the forecastle and he allowed himself a short moment of relief and visually inspected him to look for new wounds since Alfred had last seen him, then returned his full focus to the fight.

As they battled for control over the ship, the remaining pirates in their own vessel were turning around to line up for a possibility to board. If only they could win the helm before the pirates succeeded, Alfred thought, swinging his sword in a wide arc, that would give them more firm ground to stand on. His blade caught a brown haired man right across the throat. The pirate buckled to the floor with a nasty gurgling sound and blood gushed down his chest. They were close to victory, so close, but just as he saw Eska put his hand on the wheel, the first grappling hooks latched onto the rail and rigging. Alfred didn't have to give the order to cut the ropes, several of his men had already sprung to the task while the first hooks still sailed through the air.

Then there was a yell from the direction of the quarterdeck. Automatically Alfred glanced there. He stopped dead. And as the others, navy sailor or pirate, saw the same thing he did, so did they. By the door leading down below deck stood a man with a merman in his grasp and a knife pressed to its throat.

The pirates were frozen to the floorboards out of shock. Alfred's crew froze …well, out of shock as well. Sudden silence enveloped the ship like a thick blanket, and on starboard side a gang plank was stretched over the water gap and slammed noisily into place. With no man aboard moving, the scene looked eerie and unreal in the cold, unmoving moonlight, and while Alfred stared at the knife pressed to Arthur's throat, desperately unable to form a plan in his mind, the clack of boots on wood was loud in the still air.

The pirate captain stepped on board and looked around with merry eyes and a carefree grin. "I commend you for your effort, but this is as far as you'll go."

The pirate stopped on the middle of the deck, taking a leisure view of the situation. When his eyes landed on Arthur his smile broadened, though at the same time growing more serious, shifting the shadows across his face.

"A merman," he mused. Alfred had thought he had had the pirate captain's character all figured out from their first brief meeting, that the one to look out for was his right hand and not the captain himself. However, the glint in the captain's eyes was _knowing_, intelligent, and made the ground under Alfred's feet feel unsteady all of a sudden, as though it might vanish at the smallest sign from the pirate captain. "That would explain a few things, though the people from the empire always seemed scared of them." The captain paused, observing Alfred with newfound curiosity, just as if he could see right through him, looking for what made this peculiar man tick so differently. Then pirate captain shrugged.

"No matter. My family always taught me to know better. Lucas, I want it." The slightly smaller man at the pirate captain's side, whom Alfred hadn't noticed was there before now, didn't even bat an eyelid. The only thing he did was _look_ at two men, and with reluctance only visible in the way they first started to walk, they joined the first pirate in lifting the merman.

The pirate captain had already turned as this happened and was making his way back, whistling cheerfully, while Lucas swiftly scanned the navy ship and ordered his crew to tie up the prisoners again. Alfred's eyes locked with Arthur's; however, the merman didn't look scared at all. In fact, he looked nearly bored, and Alfred got the odd impression he was waiting impatiently. A memory from earlier that day was triggered, and though it had made no sense at the time, Alfred now said calmly and loudly,

"I'm ready to leave, Arthur."

* * *

><p><strong>An <strong>_**important. Please read the Whole thing. **_

**Denmark and Norway. **

**Maybe not the first characters you'd think to cast as pirates, but frankly I didn't want to use France or Spain as the pirate, and I didn't want to use Russia as the bad guy either. I guess I didn't want to follow the ordinary pattern? X) **

**Anyway, short story of how they ended up as pirates: **

**Pirates weren't just Englishmen and people from the Caribbean. Many of them were actually from Africa (and other places), and they were everything from escaped prisoners/slaves, poor sailors and men who used to work in the navy. And there were quite a few white slaves as well, a few of which came from Scandinavia. **

**Lucas was sold as a slave. Though rather than being sent to America he ended up in England because he had a pretty face and an English noble who chanced upon seeing him bought him. He made many failed escape attempts and caused general mayhem wherever he was, and soon the nobleman wanted to get rid of him, but no one wants to buy a troublesome slave. Lucas was supposed to be "put down". **

**Matthias was the son of a rich businessman, whom because of work moved to England and took his family with him. One of their business associates they made deals with had a blond servant with lifeless eyes. The slave had a pretty face, but there was hardly an inch on the rest of his body not covered in bruises, his head having been intentionally spared. Matthias caught wind of the decision to kill the slave and bugged his father into buying it. Whilst others found the slave disgraceful for all his defiance, Matthias was intrigued. **

**It took a while, but after a couple of years, Matthias broke through the slave's barricade, and the two ended up becoming friends. One night Lucas confessed to always having loved the sea, and the ultimate freedom it offered. Only a few days later, Matthias had bought a ship, and after the initial shock and disbelief Lucas helped him round up slaves and free a couple prisoners – all without Matthias' family noticing. Matthias had never had an interest in taking over the family business, and as the carefree, cheerful person he was, he was quite happy with going wherever the wind blew them and not think of tomorrow. They took off and soon became a very successful band of Pirates.**

**Pistols:**** In this time period they used something called flintlock pistols. They can only fire one bullet before you have to reload. This is why Blackbeard always carried 6 pistols, and why Alfred notices Lucas has two and after Lucas fires two shots Alfred knows there is no danger of being shot again. On that note, look up duckfoot pistol. Just because they have a funny shape and actually existed (though I don't use them in this story)**

**Gun deck**** – where the cannons are. **

**Cannon chains**** – The cannons are fastened to the deck with chains, because the recoil when firing is quite powerful. **

**Romeo and Juliet **** – Alfred and Arthur are reciting lines from Act 2, Scene 2. **

**Betaed by the fantastic and amazing and great StarrNight :D **

**Audio version of chapter 2. Please check it out! :) **w w w dot youtube dot com / watch?v=kWH016h6Q8A


	18. Chapter 18

"I'm ready to leave, Arthur."

Nothing happened apart from a sense of perplexity tugging at the people on deck as they hesitantly continued with what they had previously been doing. However, Alfred didn't care – he kept his eyes locked with the merman's, and on the wind he heard the faintest sound.

It took only a few more seconds, then he knew the others heard it as well as men started to glance around, confusion taking over for surprise. A soft hum came with the wind, playing with the ropes and their hair, and ruffling their clothes innocently. Lucas had paused shortly and Alfred wondered if the pirate knew what would inevitably come. A seemingly uncontrolled twitch went through his body before he got moving again – with more urgency this time, or was that Alfred's imagination? – telling his crew to step to it. The pirates, after a few more unsure glances around, chose to ignore it – whatever it was – instead choosing to follow the example of their higher commander, who appeared so unfazed. The navy sailors on the other hand had a droop in their back and hunch in their shoulders, barely paying attention to being recaptured; they had experienced something like this before, and the memory was clearly coming back to stand fresh in their minds. All the while the sound grew gradually in volume, leaping and curving with the air, whirling lazily as a summer breeze. Alfred was quite possibly the only one on board at complete ease – he and Arthur.

The first loud groans came from the ship as it began rocking unnaturally from side to side, the gangplank chattering slightly where it lay. Then waves were abruptly whipped up around them as the sound, the voice, the pure _existence_ in the wind suddenly boomed around them, water washing over the deck in great sweeps. Alfred braced himself against the rigging, holding on with whitening knuckles, sprayed with cold salty water.

He just as much saw as he heard the gang plank clatter between the ships to the coiling water below. He spotted Lucas, who had been running across it to reach his own ship and had still only been on the middle, suspended between the two great vessels. As the plank fell, Alfred saw him launch himself into the air, but even Alfred could see through the upstarting storm that the pirate would never make it. Not his own. Then his hand was snatched right out the air by the pirate captain leaning dangerously far over the edge, stood on the rail and with only a rope – a cut lose part of the rigging – to keep them both from plummeting. It was with a sort of practiced ease that the pirate captain swung Lucas up on deck, and just as the ocean turned Alfred's ship and pushed the pirates from view, he could see the captain laughing as his blond haired subordinate's feet touched safety.

That was also the last Alfred saw of anything for a long time. Wind and water raged on every side, locking Alfred alone on a tiny island of wood he could barely spot under his feet, taut rope in his hands, and a wall of grey and black swirling mass around him. His thigh thrummed from the stress of running and fighting, but soon he was too soaked, too cold, too numb to feel it anymore. As a navy captain, the ocean had never scared him, but he had always known to have a healthy respect for it. With the vessel listing dangerously under his feet and the notion of having been thrown into nothingness, he should have been preparing to die, counting his last seconds. But there Arthur's voice was, melded perfectly with the winds and waters, yet somehow distinguishable – if only because he _knew_ it was there. Regardless of how loud and wild the elements became, the sound never faltered, never faded into the distance. Therefore, even as the pain of being frozen subsided, as he was too cold, his head feeling like a bobbing orb without attachment to his body anymore, he was calm.

At some point he closed his eyes. It made no difference; around him there was nothing but chaos that he could not decipher. With his hearing as the only sense still working and open to his surroundings, the sounds around him seemed to change as he sunk into the darkness of his own eyelids. The howl of the winds and roar of waves eventually ebbed away and Arthur's voice, which had been as one with it before, was the only thing he heard. The wordless song filled his head and wrapped around him, and though he knew his body was being battered and pelted on the outside, the violent forces of the ocean threatening to tear his ship apart, he had no awareness of it. It was only a memory, a fleeting memory reminding him in the back of his mind to keep his hands, which he was no longer sure he had, clenched.

* * *

><p>The first streaks of sun spotted the deck, little patches of glimmering yellow spreading gradual light and warmth over the grey landscape. Slowly men began peeking out from their hiding places and tentatively pried their stiffened fingers from whatever they had clung to. Below them was nothing but a black, blank mirror spanning out endlessly, betraying no trace of there ever having been a storm. The heavy clouds above had nearly completely dissolved, giving way to a crystal blue sky. And it was silent. There was no sound, no lapping of waves, no wind, not even the ever present creaking of the ship. It was as though the world had been reborn, serene in its emptiness of any other living thing.<p>

Many men found their voices failing them as they tried to speak, as though they were shying away from being the first to fill the open space. They could only look at each other, exchanging questions and assurances, wordlessly finding each other. Then the captain was spotted, standing by the forecastle holding onto the starboard ladder rigging. For the first time the men had the chance to take him in and fully realise that he had truly somehow survived, disbelief and shock roaming free in them.

After minutes lasting for an unknown period of time, the surreal neutral weather giving no sense of time, the first few men thought to move, their initiating twitches spreading to the rest of the crew like a current. The captain still had his eyes closed, looking as though he was sleeping with no regard to being upright. The sudden urge to touch, to verify he was indeed there, pushed the men forward, a creeping worry he was nothing but a mirror image growing in their minds. The circle they created around him, after managing to make their ways over to him on unsteady, surprisingly weak legs, was tight yet strangely hesitant to close the final few steps still separating them.

The silence still muted them, no one able to call out to their captain. Somewhere in the crowd stood Toris, James could just see him between two sailors, face blank with staring eyes. He could all too clearly remember the quartermaster's state while they were locked in the brig, and did not want to even speculate what the man was feeling now.

With no particular sign to anyone, James stepped forward. He did not pause as he lifted a hand to reach out, but for a chilling second his mind conjured the sensation of his fingers slipping through nothing but empty air; with all that had happened it was hard to trust even his own memory of having just fought beside the captain. His fingertips hit fabric. He felt the shirt covering Alfred's chest, and through it he could feel the solid warmth of skin.

He stared. Then he brought up his other hand as well, took a careful hold of either shoulder, and gingerly shook the captain. At first Alfred's head just lolled to the side, even though he remained standing, and James feared for many long horrible moments that they had gotten their captain back only to lose him again. Then Alfred's eyelids fluttered and, after many attempts, his eyes finally opened. He looked around, no one moving a muscle, only watching, as recognition in the end slipped onto Alfred's face and an exhausted but joyful smile curved his lips.

It was as though a great sigh suddenly inflated the world with life, each one of the crew released to breathe freely again. Alfred laughed – as much as his weariness would allow. "You all look horrible," he declared, and James could practically feel part of the tension in the crew around him dissipate. "I'm disappointed to see you all so surprised, surely you would know by now I don't d-"

"Alfred…"

The voice was hoarse and with barely any force behind it, yet the word still somehow carried and caught their ears. Cutting himself off, Alfred turned curiously, and there, in a parting forming in the group of men, stood Toris. His eyes were wide and round and at first he didn't move. When he finally did, it was slow and hesitant, step by step, as though he feared Alfred might disappear should he do something wrong.

"I- …you- …are you…?"

Alfred smiled, broadly and warmly. "It's me, alive and kicking. More or less." Arms around him interrupted his snicker and he could hear the slight tremble in the other's breath. His smile softened and he embraced the smaller man, not the least bit perturbed about the rest of the crew stood around them, still dumbfounded.

"I am sorry for worrying you, old friend," he whispered.

"God, Alfred," Toris breathed, and his voice was still not entirely steady, although Alfred had no doubt the quartermaster was trying his best to keep it under control. "I thought for sure… this time…"

"Oh, not just yet," Alfred patted Toris on the back. "This old sea urchin still has some fight left in him." Toris shook his head and James chuckled next to them.

"It's good to see you, Captain," he said, the wind stroking his face and seemingly whispering away any lingering trace of the abnormal weather from before. "How are you feeling?"

To that Alfred could only grimace. "Hungry," he said, Toris releasing him with lifted eyebrows, and finally James laughed out loud. Now _that_ seemed to loosen up the rest of the crew a considerate amount. Smiles were shared, even a few laughs.

"You are our Captain, no doubt about that."

Without further ado, they escorted the captain down to the galley – or at least had been intending to, but halfway across the deck they were met by someone who had been watching the entire time, but who had gone completely unnoticed and remained forgotten the entire time. Green eyes observed them and Alfred's smile grew indescribably warmer.

* * *

><p>"Arthur." Alfred said, his eyes roaming for any kind of injury and finding none. He did not know if the other merfolk were close by, and quite honestly, at the moment it was not even close to being at the top of his list of priorities. He crossed the rest of the deck to kneel down in front of the merman – this stirring heavy irritation in his thigh, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.<p>

"I guess I really owe you a 'thank you,'" he said, his smile turning lopsided. Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"You think?" But there was only mock annoyance in his voice and then he let the grimace slip in the favour of a small smile. It was not much, only the smallest of lifts in the corners of his mouth, yet it made Alfred feel immediately energized and warm. With a light buzz in his head he realised this was the first time he had actually seen the merman smile. The revelation made a rush of accelerated joy surge through him and he did not know whether to laugh loudly or smile softly or…or jump up and dance, for that matter. Stuck in indecisiveness and at a loss of what to do, he just sat there, knelt in front of the merman, looking him over again and again.

"Arthur… I'm-"

"Your crew," Arthur broke him off, nodding toward him and, confused, Alfred looked down at himself before turning, "is waiting." And sure enough, there stood the big group of men several feet away, staring at them. Alfred had completely forgotten about everything and everyone else, now quite dumbstruck and staring back for several seconds without doing anything.

"Oh… of…of course," he nodded haltingly, getting to his feet. He felt strangely out of it, his mind felt as though it was filled with thick mud, making it a slow process to clear his thoughts. "Right," he said finally, with no more resolution than his former words. He let his gaze quickly slide over the crew, stopping and grabbing onto a couple of them. "Navigator, Quartermaster," he said, hoping his attempt at making his voice carry more authority this time succeeded and masked his feeling of still being slightly off balance. For a split second he was completely blank. What would be the sensible course of action now? His thoughts circled straight back to Arthur; Alfred could feel his presence behind him, even though they weren't touching, Arthur w- ah, that was it! "Help me get Arthur in the tank," he instructed quickly, the two aforementioned men saluting suit and coming over to them to carry out the order. "Cook, please retrieve some fish for him to eat."

Alfred turned back around to Arthur and the two men who were about to lift the merman. But before he even knew he was about to speak, he had already said,

"I'll do that." Toris looked up from where he was crouched by the merman's torso, intending to spare Alfred's wound the exertion of lifting. Alfred expected lifted eyebrows or a question of if he was all right, feeling more than a bit perturbed himself. But his quartermaster must have thought the reaction nothing out of the ordinary, for he just nodded and got up to open the cabin door instead. With only the slightest hesitance, quickly covering it with a smile at the two men, Alfred knelt down and gently slid his arms around Arthur's chest. On an exchange of glances, James and he lifted the merman off the deck – Alfred careful to keep his weight balanced on his one good foot.

Arthur's skin was just as Alfred remembered it, cool and smooth to the touch. He instinctively strengthened his hold, hugging the merman tighter to him, leaning his head slightly forward so the bottom half of his face touched Arthur's hair, and again he did not notice doing it before he already had. The scent of the merman, flowing into him with every inhale now, simultaneously made him want to shut out the rest of the world as it woke him up. Heartbeat sharpening, he glanced from James to Toris, but the men either did not notice or again did not find his actions strange. Toris just opened the lid of the tank and James hoisted the merman's tail over the edge and eased it into the salt water inside. Alfred took the last few steps and gently submerged the rest of Arthur into the water, his hands and forearms getting wet as he did not let go until the water reached over his elbows. Once more neither Toris nor James took any notice of it, and when he looked at the merman, offering a smile in an attempt at achieving normalcy, Arthur appeared to have taken on the same behaviour has his two men.

There was a knock on the door and all of Alfred's confusion was temporarily distracted as he gave entrance. Corey poked his head in, soon followed by the rest of his body, which was wearing a surprisingly new looking apron. With him he had a plate of fish, as well as Gervase who nodded shortly to the men in the cabin. Corey handed the plate to Alfred, and Alfred balanced it on the edge of the tank. Arthur thanked him with a murmur, and after a quiet pause, Gervase took a step forward. He pointed out the wound in Alfred's thigh with a patient, yet insistent voice and urged him to have it treated right away. Alfred peered down at his leg, Gervase eyeing him with his usual disapproval of Alfred having prioritised _anything_ else before his own health. Now that the merman had been taken care of, Gervase ordered him to at once go to his office, Alfred only stalling long enough to ask Arthur if he would be all right, to which he received a simple, pointed glance.

Removing the black lead bullet was as uncomfortable as it always had and always would be. Gervase fed him liberally with strong spirits while he and Toris supported him as they got rid of his trousers, then propped a piece of wood in Alfred's mouth. In the slurred speech of intoxication he said he would not need it – heaven knew he had more than enough experience with serious wounds – but Gervase told him – as he always did – that it was just a precaution, and to keep it regardless. "Wouldn't want you biting off your tongue by accident. We all know that would be a loss you would not get over," he said, preparing his tools. Alfred rolled his eyes with a grin at the snide comment on his _energetic _behaviour. He was then instructed to use the wall for support, as he had to stand up through the procedure because that was roughly how he had been shot. Toris was at his side and Alfred knew he would be ready to catch him, should his own limbs fail him.

"Captain," Toris muttered. Gervase removed the rough bind Alfred had made around his thigh during the battle and quickly replaced it with a belt pulled far tighter, giving it a moment to stop the blood flow and numb the wound as much as possible. Alfred quirked an eyebrow at the quartermaster.

"I saw you go down. I saw the pirate disarming you too late, I'm-" Alfred shook his hand and chuckled around the wooden cork. He could not speak with the cork between his teeth, but regardless of the swirly state of his mind, he felt certain Toris caught the full meaning of his stare anyway.

Then Gervase gave a single word of forewarning before beginning. First he doused the wound in heated alcohol, then opened the wound slightly with a hot knife and Alfred bit down into the cork as Gervase probed inside with his fingers to find the bullet. Once the piece of metal was found, Alfred had only the briefest moment to steel himself before the long, crude device designed to screw into the bullet to pull it out, was slowly pushed into his wound. Beads of sweat rolled down Alfred's face and he leaned his head back, eyes screwed shut. But he never made a sound louder than rare, choked grunts. Eventually, and painstakingly, the bullet was removed.

He listened to the sound of fabric rolled and manipulated into a tent, the smell of the vinegar in which it was wetted pulling at his nose. Then Gervase's hands were back on his thigh and the tent was inserted into the wound. Alfred's hands tightened against the wall, and had the wood been the slightest bit more forgiving his fingers would have burrowed into it.

Alfred felt the short pat on his shoulder after his thigh was bandaged, then heard the sounds of metal and cloth as Gervase tidied up after the operation. With his eyes still closed, Alfred focused dimly on his breathing, the alcohol swimming in his head a welcome distraction.

"I am taking the belt off now," Gervase said, an indirect warning about the rush of blood that would summon a second wave of pain. Alfred nodded, opening his eyes and grinning at Toris who stood faithfully at his side. His quartermaster handed him a damp cloth and he wiped his face, grimacing into it as the belt was removed. Finally he swiped it over his hair and sighed light-heartedly to conceal the constriction in his voice.

"Phew. Wonderful work as always, Doctor."

"Sometimes I wonder how you are still alive," Gervase replied, softly knocking Alfred on the head with the handle end of a walking stick. Alfred swatted it away with a laugh badly disguised as a snort. Toris took the stick instead. Alfred knew his quartermaster would hold onto it until he could force him to use it. He tested his leg, putting the amount of weight on it normal walking would amount to, biting his teeth together so his jaw protested as the thudding in his body turned from painful to agonising. He gave it a few moments before trying again, wiping a hand briefly over his brow where more sweat had formed.

"Come, quartermaster," he said. "My crew is waiting." He straightened, giving Gervase a final nod, and, after throwing a quick glance around the little, equipment-cramped cabin, gave the dark bottle on the table a longing look. However, he was well aware of his physician's view on strong alcohol _after _an operation and headed out of the cabin with a, despite everything, cheerful hobble. When Toris caught up with him, he saw from the corner of his eye that Gervase had equipped the quartermaster with a pillow, and it made him shake his head minutely with twitching lips. He knew he would greatly appreciate it as soon as he had to sit down, though. The physician would eventually come down to the galley as well, but had left them to go on ahead so he could finish preparing his cabin for the next crisis – that would no doubt come, the only question was always just _when_. Alfred pulled a grim face, his thoughts darkening considerably for several moments, though with the alcohol currently coursing through his veins he was unable to keep a serious notion for long.

The entire crew had gathered in the galley and when he entered all eyes were instantly on him.

"Greetings, dear crew, your Captain is once again healed." A cheer welcomed the statement, as it had many a times before, and, for a moment, they consciously forgot the last few days in favour of a light mood. Alfred narrowed in on the empty spot clearly reserved for him, Toris following close, positioning the pillow on the bench, and holding it in place as Alfred sat down gently, using the table for support as this motion was especially unkind on his thigh. Toris sat down next to him and Alfred let out a long exhale.

"Hmmm," he mused in mock seriousness. Making the sound drag out into nothing and the pause last on longer than what anyone had patience for, he finally said, "I suppose we have quite a bit to talk about."

At the opposite end of his table, Adrian snorted. "You hear that boys, our Captain _supposes_ we have a lot to talk about." He said it with a twinkling eye, the sarcasm good-natured, and it called forth several smiles. Alfred pretended he had not heard it, keeping his serious mask.

"Now, where to begin," he said thoughtfully, and could feel the men, though still in a good mood, fall slightly still to listen. "Ah," he said, leaning forward a bit, gathering his hands in each other. "I believe the wisest place would be to begin with-" he stared deeply into the sailor opposite him and the entire crew fell completely silent. In his peripheral, Alfred could just spot a tell-tale set of movements of a certain person he was certain no one else was currently noticing. He counted another few moments slipping by, feeling the intensity of the attention on him growing. He pulled in breath, all eyes and ears trained on him.

"Food!" And as if on cue, Corey appeared at Alfred's abrupt declaration, carrying half a dozen plates with him. The crew rolled their eyes at each other over their captain's dramatic antics, but none bothered to voice a complaint. Four days in imprisonment would do a mean trick on any man's stomach, and they ate with little conversation.

Food was sobering, both for better and worse. Mind no longer spinning, Alfred could mentally step back and get the first proper view of his men in many days. He slowed down his eating and eyed the crew. They had seen better times; many were a patchwork of crude bandages clearly made from different ripped garments during their captivity. There were dark bruises colouring their skin in blue, purple, yellow, and ugly green, and there were cuts running long and jagged that had not been dire enough to warrant dressing from their limited supplies at the time.

Wine and ale, the ordinary beverages, had already been served, but with a single glance from Alfred, Corey soon had stronger liquor spread across the tables. Gratefulness was expressed in eyes and short glances, soundlessly, for nothing more was needed. Like this they remained for a long time, continuing to eat and drink long after everyone's hunger was sated.

Finally Alfred put down his fork and knife, pushed the plate a bit higher up on the table and linked his fingers. It worked like a sign, the crew as one ignoring their plates and glasses to focus on him. Alfred pulled in a deep breath, suddenly feeling weariness weigh down on his shoulders, and could tell from the faces turned toward him that it was a shared feeling.

"What happened after I fell over board?"

"Simply put?" the weapons master grumbled. "They overpowered us."

"After you fell," James spoke up to elaborate. "It seems their priorities changed from fighting to capturing. They used nets, ropes, kept us from killing them, them killing us. …Or us killing ourselves, for that matter. A person's worth can be weighed in both silver and gold, depending on their build. They wanted to keep as many of us alive as possible.

"When they had us all tied up, we were split in two groups, locked up, and questioned for any worthwhile information. Four days later," and now a sliver of a smile spread thinly on his lips, tired but glad, "we finally decided to break out, and somehow fate would have it you chose the exact same day."

Alfred nodded once. "Casualties?"

"Final count twelve. Eight with broken limbs, but no life threatening injuries among those still alive," James listed swiftly. Normally it would have been Toris who delivered this report, but as the quartermaster had accompanied Alfred to the physician's cabin, James had been the one taking charge of the headcount in their absence. Alfred nodded, going over the information in his head and looking at his hands on the tabletop in deep thought. Tonight's notes in the log would be of the kind he hated to write. "Charles was-"

"Charles is dead." Alfred cut him off without moving a muscle. No one asked how he knew, or why his voice rung with such certainty. After a moment's pause, Alfred turned to the Boatswain.

"What is the extent of the damage?"

"Nothing noteworthy that will create problems before we reach land. A large part of the port side bulwark is gone, but we have enough material to build a makeshift railing for the time being." The boatswain glanced at the cook and weapons master, Alfred automatically doing the same in the corner of his eye. The latter of the two looked to be in a decidedly fouler mood than the first. "Not much of our food supplies were touched, apart from a barrel of ale, and several of the bottles with finer spirits, but so long as we keep an eye on our consumption we should manage fine." The boatswain sighed as a deep crease formed between his brows. "The armoury on the other hand was thoroughly ransacked. More than half of our stock is gone, the majority of it having been bullets and cannon balls."

"Simply put," the weapons master cut in, repeating his two initial words from before. "Should we meet another hostile ship, it is doubtful we will be able to hold our ground for long." Alfred nodded slowly. That was indeed bad news. Unfortunately there was also nothing to be done about this, and they all knew it, the heavy silence following the weapons master's word a testament to their grim situation. They could only pray they met another vessel of the navy with enough to spare to let them have the extra, or that they did not meet any more ships at all until they reached port.

"So Captain," Corey said gruffly, arms crossed by the small counter with now empty pots. "How did you evade the grave this time?" It was said loudly, designed to lighten the mood, if only momentarily, and Alfred took the offered bait.

"Why, I thought you knew, Lady Luck gave me her heart," he said, smiling endearingly at the cook. It drew a few chuckles, albeit exhausted and with a luggage of too many worries, but it was a chuckle none the less. They had long since come to terms with the dangers of this job, the weather, disease, and outlaws alike, and many a time intentional ignorance was preferable to worrying.

Alfred sighed deeply and grew serious again. "Honestly, the first thing I remember is waking up in our storage earlier today." The disbelief was practically its own physical being in the room. "Arthur had gotten me out of the water and hid me from the pirates for four days."

With this as his beginning, Alfred told them of hiding in his own ship, of freeing half of them from the brig, and of swimming to the pirate ship with Arthur's help. He told them of Charles, a low, bitter growl growing through the crew, the smallest glances thrown toward the two carpenters who were as stone in their seats. Alfred moved on to mention the big group of pirates running up the stairs – at which point Toris broke in, absolutely flabbergasted, saying that had been them. He described to Alfred how they got out of the brig, Alfred nodding appreciatively at their ingenuity, the incredible coincidence that they had nearly ran into each other the subject of a longer discussion among the crew before they quieted down.

Alfred told them about finding the empty brig, of meeting the pirate captain's right hand, whom James could inform him was indeed the pirate quartermaster and second in command, before wrapping up his story with his sprint across the deck.

"And from there you all know what happened," he finished, and could only imagine how everyone's thoughts were most likely on the merman in his cabin. Arthur helped Alfred a great deal, there was no denying that, but he had also saved them all, and this the crew had witnessed themselves first hand. A low murmur of the conjured storm flittered between the men, short exchanges of what they had felt, small shivers following certain statements. Regardless, they all had to acknowledge that indeed none of them had been harmed; none of them had fallen over board, no matter how violent the waves.

"It was just him, Arthur's voice alone," Adrian spoke up softly but with a meaningful sweeping glance across the crew. "Yet it wielded such _power_. It seems clear to me that he could have quite efficiently levelled us with the seabed a long time ago had he wished it." While the reluctance was still clear in their faces, Alfred could no longer see outright fear or loathing, a few even giving halting half nods. It would still take time, a lot of time, but this was a sizeable step forward. It gave him the sudden urge to return straight to Arthur and tell him, to put all energy toward closing the gap between Arthur and the crew further, so they may see the merman like he did. Fuzzy warmth spread in his middle, suddenly envisioning that little smile Arthur had given him in his mind. What he would not give to-

"Captain."

Alfred had only absently taken note of Toris, who had been staring at the tabletop, chin propped on his gathered hands. He had not said anything in a long while, appearing lost in his own thoughts, and Alfred had completely forgotten about him – and everyone else – in the last couple seconds. But now the brown haired man was looking straight at him with undivided attention, though deep thought and something akin to hesitant certainty lay behind his eyes.

"Yes?" Alfred replied, puzzled, but with the beginning of a smile. When Toris did not return it, let alone appeared to notice it, it died away.

"There is one thing you haven't told us." Alfred frowned. Toris' eyes bore into him, as though searching for an answer Alfred got the distinct impression he already knew. "How did you survive?"

Alfred's brows furrowed with confusion. "As I already said, Arthur hid me for fou-"

"I am aware," Toris gently, but with underlying urgency. "But I saw you get hurt; I saw how you were stabbed. That combined with the temperature and force of the ocean would not allow you to stay alive for long – even if you were brought out of the water quickly enough and slept for four days," he swiftly added when Alfred sucked in a small breath to answer. "With all due respect, Alfred, you should be dead."

Ice prickled and slithered slowly up his spine. The galley was suddenly completely devoid of all sound. Everyone stared at them, at Toris, at him. He heard Toris' words in his head, understood what he was insinuating. His mind spun.

"I… it…" his throat was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. His eyes flittered over the crew and he could see gradual realisation dawning in some of them, as they too caught onto what Toris was actually saying. They expected an answer, so many conflicting emotions looking at him, waiting. In the end, all Alfred managed to say was,

"I don't know."

Silence. Again. It was a lie and they all knew it. There was only one possibility, but if that was the truth then…Alfred's heart felt like it wanted to escape his chest. He wanted to escape the galley. However, he could not just get up and walk out on his crew. The rescue came from the most unexpected hold.

"Well then," Gervase got up from his seat. "We have now all eaten and exchanged the necessary information. Anything else can wait until tomorrow." He levelled the crowd with a stark expression. "Far too many of you require my attention and I want to get to sleep as well. So get a move on, unless more of you wish to join the final causality count."

Following this, the galley was, in an abrupt flurry of movement, cleaned of all plates, cutlery, and people. Alfred took the walking stick Toris had hung onto for him, and, leaning heavily on it, made his slow way toward the stairs and the main deck. The quartermaster did not follow him, but Alfred could feel his eyes on his back the whole way.

Out on deck, the day sky had developed a couple of thinly stretched, white clouds, and a good wind rippled the ocean surface. White foam exploded at the highest wave tops and the ship cruised merrily along under the steady hand of Eska, whom Alfred could see if he tipped his head back. He did not, however. The deck was already brought to life by a few of the least injured men who were tending the sails and repairing what damage they could, that which did not need a carpenter's attention.

Alfred acknowledged them briefly before leaning against his door, following it inside as it swung open, and likewise used his weight to close it. His eyes were lost to the floorboards as he tried to find where to start, what words to use. Dragging his free hand down his face, closing his eyes shortly, he decided to approach it head on. He lifted his gaze and opened his mouth to ask the one question on his min-

The air caught in his throat and an entirely different word fell from his lips.

"Iain."

It was said with only a slight bit of difficulty, but he believed he managed to mask it perfectly. The man standing by the tank eyed him coolly. Like flicking a switch, the Captain swiftly dismissed any earlier emotions, his back straightening and a calculated calm settling in him instead. He could sense his battle instincts asserting themselves, his general awareness sharpening and automatically taking in every corner of the room.

"Back for another night-time visit?" Alfred asked, casual teasing in his wording, very much not so in the rest of him. The man at the receiving end of his remark looked about as thrilled at being there as Alfred felt at having him there.

"Arthur saved ye an' th' rest o' yer men's lives. Hoo aboot a bit o' politeness, ye ingrate?"

Alfred did not even bat an eyelid. "Did you assist him in saving me and my ship?" he asked plainly. Iain's eyes narrowed.

"Nae."

"Then I don't have to showcase any form of gratefulness to you," Alfred concluded. He had no reserves to deal with the untimely intrusion. "Now leave."

"Donnae wet yerself Cap'n, I dinnae intend tae stay," Iain snarked. "Come, Arthur." The cold tightening in Alfred's chest when Iain then proceeded to reach his arms out to the merman in the tank came completely without forewarning. A short pang surged straight through him, something that felt so very close to panic making him act before he could think.

"What are you doing?" his tone was sharp and loud. Iain halted in his movements and stared at him incredulously.

"Whit I'm doin'?" he repeated slowly. The temperature of the room dropped by several degrees and Iain rose to his full height. The merman's eyes glistered dangerously, perhaps expecting to intimidate him, but Alfred did not back away. "I'm gaein home, an' I'm takin' ma broth wi' me." Iain's sneer made his canine teeth twinkle in the sparse light. He took one step forward, just one, daring this pathetic _human_ before him to oppose him. From outside Alfred could hear the low chatter of the sailors, but it was far away as though belonging to another world entirely and he barely registered it. He felt more than saw Arthur's presence, his senses clutching onto it. Yet, despite the uproar he felt inside, he was indifferent in his reply.

"Indeed," he said and nodded soberly. "However," he added, crossing the floor with hardly any help from the walking stick at all and shrugged his coat off to hang it across the chair's back, "Right at the moment I need to discuss certain recent events with your _brother_. It is a matter of my ship, my crew, and me – hardly a conversation you have any place in." He turned back toward Iain, and froze.

The merman seemed to fill the room. He had not stepped closer, yet he somehow filled Alfred's entire field of vision. Cold-blooded intent radiated off the merman like tendrils of invisible smoke that curled in the air, licking at the space around Alfred but never quite touching him. Emerald eyes watched him, seared into him, their weight heavy on him and at one moment so close to capturing him and locking his mind away forever when Alfred's own eyes strayed too close to them. Had this been the first time they met, Alfred knew he would already have been dead.

But it was not, and Alfred forced himself to look anywhere and everywhere else. He forced his body to move with joints that felt as though they were smeared in syrup and grabbed Iain by the shoulders. Despite his injured thigh, he managed to turn the merman around and steer him toward the door. Perhaps the merman was simply too baffled by the treatment, or perhaps too shocked at the physical contact, but at the very least he did not protest right away. Regardless of why this was, Alfred took full advantage of it and pushed Iain out the door without pausing to think. "Have a safe trip to the water, and do knock next time." He shut the door. His mouth felt numb, the sarcasm little but a reflex. The sound of his own voice helping to clear his mind slightly however.

From outside came no cries of surprise from the sailors at the stranger exiting his cabin. Frankly, Alfred could not care less how the merman got from his door into the water and whether he had been seen or not, so long as he did not try to get back in.

And he did not.

Alfred closed his eyes, breathing in deeply in an attempt to calm himself. It was hard at first, then he could slowly feel the haze leaving his mind, the thickness of the very air he breathed dissipating with it. His emotions were still in chaos, coursing hot and cold through his veins. He was not entirely certain where it had all come from, it confused him, the mere scale of it, and he was only vaguely aware that what he had just done could eventually land him and his crew in a lot of trouble. It did not matter. None of it mattered right now. When he opened his eyes again, he stared at the wood of the door, not trusting his body to move. First now he noticed his hand on the turned key in the lock.

Behind him, Arthur was surely watching him. He did not even want to try to fathom what this looked like to Arthur, or what was possibly going through the merman's head. Arthur with the guarded gaze and cautious movements, Arthur with the cool skin and bottomless eyes, Arthur with dry comments and love for plays, Arthur with that gentle smile… Alfred suddenly realised just how very big the cabin had seemed while the merman was gone, and he could not understand how he had ever felt comfortable alone in his captain's quarters before. The merman belonged here with him.

Alfred's eyes widened. The thought had come automatically, for a split second felt so matter of fact. _Arthur belonged here with him._ Now it churned over and over in his mind. The floor rolled under him, and had not sea legs long since been embedded far into his very bones, he would have surely collapsed. He let go of the key, it making the smallest of sounds in the lock as he did, and leant his hand against the surface of the door instead. His breath was shallow, only a desperate muster of focus keeping it steady. A memory that he in past anger had suppressed in the back of his mind and hid far out of sight, resurfaced. There, in the warm daylight of his cabin, the warmth not entirely reaching him, he could hear his quartermaster's words as though the man himself was standing right next to him.

"_You miss him."_

Because of the nature of his occupation, he had made a habit of not becoming too attached to anyone. In the very beginning of his longer voyages, the longing for his brother had been immense, but it had been a long time since he stopped feeling it. Though their bond was no weaker than since birth, the fact that each time he left harbour he might not return had been acknowledged and accepted. It had become such a foreign feeling to him, yet now that the first thought was made, the realisation washed over him without a sliver of doubt.

He had missed Arthur…he _cared_ about Arthur…when had this happened? His hands trembled, he stared at them, pressed them against the door in no avail to try to stop it. He was delusional with pain – he had to be. Caught in the moment, the thudding of pain from his thigh clouding his ability to think straight. All this that he was feeling, it could not possibly be because of Arthur.

"Alfred?"

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><p><strong>AN. <strong>

**Alright, three things: **

**First off, this hasn't been betaed because I wanted to post it as soon as I was done since I took so long. So I'm sorry if you see any mistakes. **

**2: I'm so sorry for taking so long. Basically, school is exhausting, and I spent my first month of summer holiday gathering up energy. Then I was so stupid as to skim through this story looking for something, and kinda hit a wall of "wow, this is shit"…. Sooo yeah, inspiration was hard to find. X) And no, I'm not saying this to wallow in self-pity and scream for attention, but it is the simple truth. **

**I can only say thank you so, so much to all of you who read and review, it's a miracle and I love you all to bits. :D **

**3: Here's a good website on what surgical procedures were like before. I recommend reading it. (you'll also find the "extracting screw" and how it worked here) www {dot} piratesurgeon {dot} com / pages/surgeon_pages/bullet_extraction1 . htm**

**And this here explains what the "tent" Gervase put into the bullet wound was: www {dot} piratesurgeon {dot} com / pages/surgeon_pages/dressings3 . htm**

* * *

><p>EDIT 15.09.13: Betaed by StarrNight :)<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

"Alfred?"

He froze. All at once his trembling stopped, his body gone completely still.

Alfred breathed. A normal breath in, a normal breath out, repeat. No heavy sighs. He could have laughed at himself. This was not the time to lose his head. He was letting himself get too carried away. Fair enough, so he cared for Arthur, but it was not as though that was unheard of, or strictly speaking a surprise in any way. He had been spending quite a lot of time with Arthur –truly, it was only to be expected. He cared for everyone aboard his ship, and right now he was fatigued, injured, and had been under days of great stress. For the time being, he was experiencing irrational emotions, and after a good night's sleep, they would probably look a lot different.

Alfred put an easy smile on his face and turned around. He had to ignore the jolt going through him when he laid eyes on the merman again – it was only a product of his exhausted brain.

"Oh God," he shook his head softly and laughed a little. "I have certainly gone and signed my death contract now." Alfred hobbled across the floor and sunk gently – taking great care with his leg – into his chair. "This time he will surely sink my ship and take all my men down with it." He chuckled again. Though he supposed, there was some truth to it, even if he was just saying it for the sake of something to say. Picturing the moody, sharp-eyed merman in his mind, he could not really see Iain forgiving him for his impudence. Yet, he was unable to care about the possible threat.

"No, he won't."

Alfred lifted one brow. He stopped rearranging his leg, trying to find the least uncomfortable position, looked over at Arthur. The merman was observing him, his expression serious. However, at the attention given him, he added a shrug and idly pushed away from the tank edge he had been leaning on.

"I just went through the trouble of saving this heap of wood," Arthur said, voice bordering a scoff. "I would not have my brother make all that work worthless."

"Indeed." Alfred leaned back comfortably in the chair, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "Work well done too," he added. "Though it does beg the question, how did you manage to manoeuvre about aboard my ship?" It was Arthur's turn to quirk a brow, and Alfred's eye twinkled as he quickly looked the merman over. "Are you able to change into a human form now, like your brother?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Your ignorance never ceases to amaze me. To change ones very flesh and bone is not something so easily learned. It is a lot harder to imitate the human body than one would think," he said, grimacing, though it was only in mock-distaste. Then he shrugged again. "The fundamental muscle build in our lower halves are very different from one another."

Alfred nodded; that made sense. But this also kindled genuine curiosity. "Then how did you move about – with me, no less?"

This time Arthur actually smiled. He tilted his head up so he could look at Alfred across his cheek, giving him a positively superior look. He was playing along with Alfred's light-hearted mood, he was aware of that. He had no doubt the merman was surveying his every move, the few moments prior not forgotten in the least. But, he was allowing Alfred space, at least for now, and for that Alfred was grateful. "A merman has his ways," Arthur said. Alfred believed him. He had seen enough of this merman and his brother that nothing surprised him anymore. Not that he was not curious, but he would probably not get an elaborated answer out of the merman, right now. He changed subject.

"So, I trust you had a good few days," he said, arms leisurely leaned on the armrests.

"Of course. The rats on your ship make for marvellous conversational partners," Arthur replied tartly, making Alfred laugh – a tiny bit more in earnest this time. Then he gave the merman a look, wordlessly prodding him to take the question for what it was.

"Did you see anything interesting out there?" he asked, and felt how his mouth curled in a smile at the carefully measured light slowly appearing in the merman's eyes. He was trying to hold himself back, and that only spoke in even greater volumes of the merman's excitement.

Arthur told Alfred of great flocks of jellyfish, varying shades of vermillion, crimson, and golden spanning on for miles. He told of octopi that changed the colour of their hide, of underwater dances in ink; the black liquid spun in twirls by their tails to create temporary, wondrous pictures. He described the splendour of a sunset and sunrise watched from just underneath the surface, and the feel of a whale's back. Merchildren playing hide and seek in shipwrecks of many different eras, of strong deep-water currents that would pull them along so they hardly had to swim, vast plains of sand, and depths darker than the night.

As he spoke, the words came quicker. Gradually forgetting himself in the reminiscence, the descriptions became longer and more filled with life as he tried to verbally convey all he had seen and felt and experienced. Alfred was sucking up every word, sitting completely still so as not to accidentally disrupt, tucking every sentence away safely in his memory. He found he was enjoying the stories, just as much as listening to the merman simply talk. The dips and changes in tone, the voice filling his cabin; he revelled in it, a warm, floating feeling settling in him. He wished it would never stop. He wished Arthur would never stop talking.

Alfred grit his teeth. For a moment, Arthur's words were lost on him as annoyance bubbled in him. There he went, letting emotions rule him again. He was heading too fast too deep into something he did not know the scope of. _Leave it alone_, he thought grimly to himself. _In a couple days everything will look different. You're just caught up in the moment_.

"-so I did not forget."

Alfred was snapped out of his thoughts, realising he had not heard anything the last few minutes. He blinked at Arthur, and trying vainly to save himself, he said, as confidently as he could,

"Of course you didn't." But despite his efforts, it came out more like a question. Arthur however, must have been rather preoccupied with whatever it was he was trying to prove, for he did not seem to notice. Quickly collecting himself, Alfred got a proper look at the merman, and his eyebrows inched upwards. Arthur was positively fidgeting, staring furiously at the floor, the wall, the ceiling – everywhere and anywhere Alfred was not.

"I told you I would, so I did." The merman thus proceeded to thrust out his hand – which Alfred only now noticed was bundled in a tight fist. He stared at it, equal parts confused and curious. A moment of nothing. Then some of the tension seemed to leave the hand, and hesitantly, the fingers uncurled – if such a feeling could be conveyed in simple fingers alone.

In the palm, now fully exposed, was a single, white pearl. Alfred immediately recognised it for what it was. The smooth, rounded shape was not like those filed by a craftsman, nor was it equally polished to perfection. Yet, as it shimmered dully in the light from the windows, its slightly uneven shape made the smallest tint of pink apparent in the shallow dips in the surface. Alfred slowly got to his feet, despite the protests of his resting thigh, crossing the floor to get a closer look of the tiny treasure.

"Where did you find it?" he asked breathlessly, for he had no doubt that was what Arthur had done.

"Do you not remember? I told you I would bring you something from the bottom of the ocean one day, and now I have." Alfred's eyes flashed quickly to Arthur in surprise. The merman had spoken with an annoyed tone, though the moment Alfred looked at him, he knew it meant nothing. Arthur still refused to meet his eyes, a blush had crept onto his cheeks, he was biting his lip, and his shoulders were nervously pulled tight together. Alfred paused, and felt how a fond smile slid back on his face, his chest swelling. Honestly, he sighed, this silly, little creature.

A sudden jerk went through the merman. "If you do not want it, just say so!" he snapped. "It was idiotic of me-"

"_I want it._" Alfred lashed out and grabbed the retracting hand, and, in his brashness, startled the merman to finally look at him. "I want it," he repeated, calmer this time, giving the merman a reassuring, soft smile and gently put both his big, warm hands around the single cool one. The merman blinked, baffled at him. Alfred ignored it, gently parting the half-closed fingers with one hand and picked the little pearl from Arthur's palm. He rolled it slowly between his fingers, watching how the uneven sides caught the light slightly differently. At first, he had not understood what Arthur meant, but as he had picked up the small treasure from the sea, he suddenly remembered. It had been that day, the ninth day of Arthur's swimming, the merman had promised to bring him something. How ironic that that was the very day Alfred had ended up cursing.

"Thank you-" his voice came out hoarse. He quickly cleared his throat. "Thank you, Arthur." The pearl was hard in his hand, big enough to be noticeable, but small enough not to make his fingers bulge when he closed his hand around it. He did not want to let go of it, equally as much as he never wanted to let go of the merman's wrist in his other hand. The moment this realisation hit however, he quickly let go.

"You have seen quite a lot in such a short time," he said, taking a step back. "It all sounds amazing." He shifted casually in place, not wanting to stand still, but not knowing where to go, and not wanting to be caught out on the odd restlessness. "Do you want something to read?" Upon the short nod he received, he eagerly headed for the bookcase, slipping the pearl into his pocket. "I don't suppose you got to read a lot during your underwater adventures," he noted easily over his shoulder without looking, running his finger over a row of worn paper. The lying part of his mind said he was evaluating each title critically; in truth he did not register at all what he read.

"Speaking of adventures, your brother seemed to be in quite the hurry to get back to it." Alfred's hand halted briefly. Why did he have to mention the merman's brother? His stomach knotted with annoyance, but it was too late now. He continued pulling out plays and putting them back.

"Iain doesn't like humans."

"That is such a shame, we are such a cheerful species," Alfred threw a grin toward the merman, pretending to be completely unaffected by the clipped reply. Returning to the bookcase, he pulled out two random plays. He wanted to ask how long Arthur would be staying. He burned to know, the question at the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to speak it. The part of his mind that tells the truth whispered it was because he feared the possible answer. Alfred smothered the voice. He could feel the little pearl as the slightest presence against the side of his thigh.

Alfred turned from the bookcase with a certain abruptness, trying to pull away from his thoughts at the same time. He had settles on the plays in his hands, absently reasoning Arthur would be happy regardless which he brought. In the tank Arthur had already prepared himself, elbows propped up on the edge and hands dry. He accepted the plays, giving them a quick once over, deciding, and laying one to wait its turn on the floor.

"Well, maybe if your brother gave those a try, he wouldn't be so impatient," Alfred carried on, leisurely backing up toward the chair. He plopped down in the seat, as swiftly as his wound would allow. Gently massages the conjoining part of his hip, he tried to relieve some of the pain.

"You cannot read those underwater, after all."

Silence clamped down on them. Arthur had only briefly glanced up in response to the remark, but his expression was as unreadable as only he could make them. For a while Alfred just sat there, watching, listening, as Arthur read. The dry sound that filtered through the air with every turn of a page was so familiar, and it felt as though it had been a whole man's age since he last heard it. It was of course the exact same sound as when he paged through a play himself, yet at the same time it was entirely different. He would have closed his eyes; he would have relaxed into the quiet of the cabin and enjoyed the long lost company. His thoughts, however, would grant him no such rest.

Alfred wanted to rub his face and lean his head in his hands. It felt heavy. He needed to sleep. He needed to get some distance to this day – to this whole voyage, really. But he resisted every urge. It was still daylight out, no time to sleep, and he did not want to let his mental _condition_ be known right now. He peered briefly up, Arthur turned a page, he had the impression the merman was reading more for his sake than the merman's own. Truly, the merman had been rather considerate of him ever since he chased out the brother. How much did Arthur know? Understand? Alfred's forehead creased softly. It was not the first time he had wondered; the merman seemed to have these moments, these times when Alfred felt he was so blind and ignorant in comparison. His eyes traced the outline of the merman slowly. How old was he? Alfred tried to picture the pub keeper. It had been so long since he had seen the man, but he could remember a middle-aged face. However, it had been the man's _father_ who had captured Arthur. Slowly Alfred's eyes widened the tiniest bit, and he wondered why he had not thought of this before, but the merman was at the very least twice his age. Much more than that.

The sudden realisation made his mouth instantly dry and his head reel slightly with shock. At the same time he numbly scolded himself; this should have all been a matter of course. He should have already automatically understood this when he heard the pub keeper's tale. That merpeople aged differently was something any old fisherman's story would take as a given, but this was the first time the very _scope_ of what this meant dawned on Alfred. He tried to imagine his entire life, for as long as he could remember, and exchange all his memories with being inside a glass cylinder. He couldn't. He tried doubling it. His head fell heavily into his hand, proper against the armrest, his surroundings lost on him as he stared blindly at the floor.

After such a long time, Arthur had been granted ultimate freedom. So, why did he return?

"Arthur," Alfred's voice was powerless, his eyes gliding slowly upwards to find the merman. "What happened four days ago?"

"You tried to sign another death contract," the merman replied with breathed ease, not looking up from the play. "And I'm quite certain that particular application would have been accepted."

Alfred's mouth and throat was still dry, despite his many attempts at swallowing, his tongue feeling big in his mouth.

"Arthur, why am I not dead?"

Arthur did not look up from the play, but his eyes stopped moving. "You recklessly got yourself in trouble again, so someone had to come and save your human hide."

For the longest moment, nothing but silence passed between them. Alfred did not have it in him to say anything in return, no urging words for a continuation, no attempt to protest the remark made, he could not gather the… strength? Courage? He could only continue gazing at the merman, feeling as though he was balancing on a high edge with no way of seeing what was ahead of him. All he could do was wait.

Finally, Arthur sighed. He lowered the play to rest on the tank edge, though still did not return Alfred's gaze.

"When I reached you in the water, you were still alive. You had lost consciousness, but your heart was still beating. I got you into the ship, hid you, and in the span of four days, you recovered." A beat. "From there on out, you know the rest. Anything more you wish to know, captain?"

Alfred twitched, just the smallest of movements, barely detectable, at the unfamiliarity. In a flash, he could remember another time in this cabin, when he had made Arthur read for the first time. _"My name is 'Alfred', you should try saying it sometime"._ How long ago that felt now. He pushed it from his mind.

"Yes," he said quietly. "There is. Something more happened. I know I would have died from those wounds if I had been left to myself, even if I got out of the water." Piercing green suddenly bore right into Alfred, a chill rolling through him, thick like a blanket, freezing him in place for several long seconds.

"You appear to have it all figured out already though," the merman remarked deathly calm. Alfred's mouth pressed into a fine line. "Let's hear it."

"You did something," Alfred muttered. The merman did not move a muscle. "Did you, somehow… heal me?" Was such a thing even possible to do?

"Yes."

Alfred sucked in a small breath. "Why?"

While the first reply had been curt and deadpan, this time the merman tensed, seeming to draw his body together, much as though he was preparing for an attack. The beginning of a frown slowly formed on Alfred's forehead. This day was not making any more sense with every passing moment. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the merman beat him to it, and he did so with a casual shrug.

"Just settling the debt."

Alfred stared. Then blinked. Once, twice. The complete change in the merman's posture had caught him entirely off guard, and he was struggling to keep up. The debt… A debt …To him. "I see," he said slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching irregularly. So that was the answer, the explanation. Alfred's brows began tightening. But he interrupted himself, quickly loosening up his face, and chuckled. Then broke into a laugh. A hysterical edge just barely tainted his voice, but his brain refused to recognise it. "Of course," he nodded, sticking a lopsided smile to his face. "I had almost forgotten about that first storm." Arthur shrugged again. "It feels like such a long time ago, does it not?" Alfred carried on. "Now you can swim," his voice drifted and he let a pause follow it, before he with a resolute huff pushed himself up from the chair. He spoke with an easy smile.

"Well, you can consider you debt paid in full then, and you may return to the ocean."

He needed to get to bed, no matter if the hour was just some time in the afternoon. He would surely sleep until morning anyway. "A debt, huh?" he repeated more slowly with a long exhale, smile still in place, stretching his back with a grimace.

"And here I was nearly led to believe it was because you cared about me." It was said as a joke. It was supposed to be a joke. Indeed, he had not intended to say it at all, but his mouth acted without his consent. Alfred turned away to head for the bed.

Silence.

"What if it was?"

Alfred stiffened.

"Then what?" the merman's voice betrayed no emotion. It took a long while before Alfred slowly turned around. He laughed, but even he could hear how uncertain it sounded. He pretended he didn't.

"Then," he said, pausing. What should he say? His tongue felt loose in his mouth. He was blank as to what to say, at the same time as he felt as though he was on the verge of saying far too much. His smile frail. He took a step toward the tank. "Then," he repeated. He pulled in a breath. "Then I suppose," he finally drawled with a sigh and fake carefreeness, ruffling a hand through his hair and taking another two steps.

"I suppose I would not have to ask you how you managed to get here in time," he shrugged, and stopped, standing midway between the bed and tank. He shifted his weight over on one foot, sliding his hands into his pockets, and Alfred and Arthur slipped between having eye contact and avoiding it.

Arthur remained unreadable, Alfred's mind much the same. His innards were gradually beginning to rebel against him as well, not making his thoughts any clearer. Therefore, closing his eyes briefly, he decided he would stop thinking; it was getting him nowhere. In the left pocket, his hand closed around the little pearl.

An inaudible sigh, Alfred's smile slipped from his face. Crossing the rest of the floor, he asked,

"How did you manage to get here on time?" he stood right by the tanks edge, looking down at the merman. The smallest frown slipped onto Arthur's face, his eyes flickering.

"I was never far away," he muttered in the end.

"Why?" Alfred's voice was quiet, yet more intense than he had expected. It made Arthur's gaze snap up to meet his. The merman's mouth opened, though no sound came from it at first, it did not quite close again. Rather, the jaw moved slightly, up and down, as though grasping for words just out of reach. Then there was a splash, the merman's tail flicking in the water. A jerk went through his shoulders.

"I had a promise and a debt to uphold," he said.

Alfred nodded slowly, making a noncommittal sound somewhere between an _aha_ and thoughtful_ mhm_. He lifted one hand, reaching out, the tips of thee fingers coming in touch with the merman's cheek. He let them slide downwards and supported his hand under the merman's chin. His left hand remained curled around the pearl. Then he leaned forwards and gently touched his lips to Arthur's forehead.

"I missed you."

Alfred could feel the merman stiffen. He lingered for a moment, before pulling back and offering a small smile. But even though he paused, giving the merman an opportunity, Arthur neither said nor did anything. Finally Alfred turned away, and with short preparations, sunk into his bed. The soft covers felt like a blessing, and for once, he was soon fast asleep.

* * *

><p>Alfred leaned against the bulwark, watching his men work in the good weather. Eska was in charge of the helm, and he and another sailor would be for the duration of Alfred's injury, which was nothing out of the ordinary. But though he was temporarily relieved of any physical tasks, Alfred never liked remaining indoors. Therefore, after fetching food for Arthur and asking if he was feeling all right, he had hobbled out on deck with the walking stick. No matter that the physician would fix him with a disapproving stare the moment they saw each other, the quartermaster going to be quick to second it. Upon waking and going through morning routines, Alfred had chosen to ignore the slightly strange atmosphere in his cabin, keeping his thoughts locked away.<p>

First now, out on deck, did he start to filter through them. Standing in deep thought for an unknown period of time, no one stopping to bother him. A few saluted at him, some smiled, but he was respectfully left to himself. He breathed deeply, several times, and tilted his head back to look to the heavens. The sky was a fantastic light blue, at places turning nearly white, rays of sun breaking through the strong breeze as brief caresses of warmth. Alfred pulled he pearl out of his pocket and held it up, watching the light catch in the matte surface he turned it ever so slightly between his fingers. He slipped it back into the safety of his pocket.

All right, so he cared for Arthur, that much was fair enough. Living this close for an extended period such as this, there was really little else to expect. He loved Arthur like he loved his brother. _Hah_, he flashed a smile to himself, snorting a silent laugh, wouldn't Iain be thrilled if he heard that. His mood quickly dropped again; that aside, he had another pressing matter to be concerned with. He stared into the waves, their white topped pattern stretching as far as the eye could see. As he excited his cabin that morning, he had remembered, far too vividly, of entering the main deck five days prior. At that time, the crew had asked him to step down as a captain. He glanced about the deck. They seemed happy enough at the moment not to make him feel particularly troubled, but the matter had never been resolved. He supposed four days in captivity and battling death could change such matters into trifles easily forgotten¸ but he knew he would not feel relaxed until he dealt with it.

"How are you feeling?"

Alfred lifted his eyebrows, his head lifting with them, only to see Toris standing in front of him. He was leaning on the rail, just as Alfred, and gave the captain a quick once over. When their eyes met he sent Alfred a reprimanding look, though it was good-natured, and he followed it up with a chuckle. This had happened many times before, and Alfred, true to their little tradition, winked in return, before falling sober again.

"Not too bad," he said. "Gervase did a fine job, as usual. How about yourself?" the corners of his mouth twitched humorously. "James has a good arm."

Toris grimaced softly, automatically touching a hand gingerly to his very purple-black eye. "Can't complain."

Alfred smiled. "Indeed."

Toris turned toward the ocean, leaning both his elbows and forearms on the rail. Alfred mirrored him, and they stood in silence for a while, looking out toward the seemingly endless horizon. Alfred had no doubt the other merfolk, most importantly Iain, were hardly many feet from the ship, but at least they were out of view. Keeping his gaze on the water, Toris was the one to speak first.

"So Arthur healed you?"

"Yes."

Toris nodded. "So merfolk can heal people?" It was really more a statement than a question, but Alfred replied anyway.

"It would seem so."

"Was this to be widely known, merfolk would most likely become a popular prey for treasure hunters and their sort."

"I would suppose so." Alfred's forehead furrowed as he looked up at the sky without moving his head, squinting slightly at the light. He loosely entwined the fingers of his hand.

"We owe Arthur our thanks. Both for our sake, and yours," Toris said. In his peripheral, Alfred could see the quartermaster glancing at him. Toris' voice fell quieter. "Had it not been for him…"

"Yes," Alfred sighed weightily, and again silence enveloped them.

Albeit he suspected Toris' mind was racing along, much like his own, they were comfortable in each other's presence. Toris was always able to work out a lot by himself, Alfred hardly ever had to tell him much for Toris to perceive what was going on. Memories from their long service together came to life, and he let them flitter unhindered through his mind as he closed his eyes. He absently wondered if Iain heard their conversation, or if he was too far away. It did not matter much.

"For how long is he staying?" Toris asked. Alfred opened his eyes again, and pulled a hand through his hair as he turned to face his quartermaster.

"I don't know."

Toris nodded, knowingly, and Alfred gave a small smile, before stretching leisurely.

"Ah well, I should have Gervase look at my leg before he sends someone to hunt me down," he patted Toris once on the shoulder.

"I'm afraid he beat you to it, Captain," Toris returned the light tone. "I was tasked to ask you come see him as soon as I finished my own business with you."

Alfred chuckled. "Well, I had better get going then." He grabbed the walking stick he had leaned against the bulwark and set out to find the strict physician, before the man turned into a _grumpy_, strict physician.

To find Gervase was not too hard. After a close inspection of the tent in the wound, the thigh was bandaged up again, and Alfred was sent off with instructions to stay in bed, which they both knew the captain would not follow. He mainly went on to spend the day sitting in the stairs leading to the helm, enjoying the weather. Every now and again he would poke his head into his cabin to see how Arthur was doing, but despite his gut curling for him to stay, he always returned outside.

Sometimes James would join him on the stairs, either to talk, or sit in pleasant silence. In the past, whenever he had the opportunity to, this spot would have also been occupied by the lookout, Aaron. But now the young man appeared to hardly leave the crow's nest at all, apart from when dinner was served. Alfred only caught two glimpses of him the whole day, and it called a soft frown to his face. There was another matter he wanted to address.

Alfred sighed, leaning back in the stairs to lean his forearms on the step behind his back. He glanced up at the helmsman. "If I ever say a mission is complicated after this, you have my full permission to pommel me," he both sighed and chuckled. Eska glanced down at him and nodded, once. The comment was out of the blue, but the Helmsman needed no further elaboration. With a groan of stiff joints, Alfred stood, supporting his weight mainly on the cane. He grimaced going down the few steps to the deck, stretching his back once he got there.

Overhead, orange moved into pink which moved into red which moved into dark blue, and Alfred thought it was about time he moved into his cabin for the day. As he pushed down the door handle however, a grim smile slid across his face. Call it intuition, or perhaps he was just so attuned to their very presence, either way he knew, before he looked into his cabin, that there was no point in opening the door. He still gave it a push, but had already turned as he in his peripheral caught an empty room, and an empty tank.

His first steps were slow, deliberate, coolly measured, but as he drew closer to the edge of the ship, they quickened. Overwhelming emotion suddenly rushed through him, shattered his control, burned through his chest and up his throat. Arthur was leaving. Arthur was leaving him. Again. Alfred's hands slammed into the rail, his last paces at a full run, and stared out across the ocean. Nothing. He searched every wave and valley. Nothing but water stretching in every direction. Alfred's heart thundered in his ears, on the rail his fingers trembled, though he did not notice it.

He whipped around, made for the longboat, frantically handling the ropes. He had it halfway to the water before the quartermaster was suddenly at his side. An absent part of his mind barely registered the quartermaster's shallow breathing, as though he had been running everywhere, but it was irrelevant. A snarl built in Alfred's throat. If Toris dared say he was being reckless, that he had to stop, asked what on earth he was doing- but Toris just looked at him, caught his eyes a split second, then his hands were on the ropes.

"_Lower the main sail!" _he bellowed as he helped his captain. "_Bring her head to wind!"_ That would practically stop the ship entirely.

The longboat hit the water surface. Alfred wasted no time, he hefted the rope ladder, using it to swing himself down rather than climbing the steps. He grunted as his feet made contact with the boat, the hard impact shooting up his bad leg, though dismissed it quickly. Up on deck Toris let go of the rope holding the longboat in place, and Alfred began drifting away from the ship.

At first, the emptiness of the boat and ocean were close to crushing him, as he did not know what to do, where to start. Then he tried quietly,

"Arthur…" He felt blinded, powerless, as though he was grabbing at empty air. There was nothing he could do to force the merman to come back.

"Arthur." There was nothing he could physically do to change the situation.

"Arthur!" This knowledge was tearing away at his insides, coiling infuriatingly and despairingly through his gut.

"_Arthur!"_ There was nothing he could do. Except,

"_ARTHUR!" _scream.

Nothing answered him. Nothing but the brush of wind and waves against wood, and even that was drowned out by the rush of his own blood in his ears. Not even the cry of a seagull could be heard. Of course not. No birds existed out here …_nothing_ existed out here. Alfred curled in on himself. The ocean was not freedom. How had he ever thought that? A bird flying out across the ocean, with no place to land, had no hope. The ocean was vast, empty, and dead.

Alfred lifted both hands. He leaned them in his lap, dully inspecting them with his eyes. The calloused surface of his palm, the many small scars running across the softer skin on the back of his hands. What had he gotten himself into? He leaned forwards, ruffled his hair, rubbed his face, then hid it in his hands. The blackness of his own eyelids was a welcome hiding place. Honestly, what was he doing? He should have stayed on land, with his brother. He would not be in this mess then, numerous emotions ripping through him, impossible to make out, like his own personal hurricane.

Somewhere behind him the ship had come to a near complete halt by now, lying as still as a ship on open waters could. Alfred had drifted somewhat more to the side of her and out, rather than behind, because of this. Not that it mattered. Alfred shifted his fingers slightly so he could just peer out through them, looking down at the water again. When he leaned a little bit further forward he could see his own shadow, barely visible on the dark, never-quiet surface. His own silhouette skipping and shifting, tearing apart and merging again with every ripple and chaotic wave.

He shifted. He leaned his head in only one hand, half his face still shielded. The other he slowly reached out across the edge of the longboat, hovering over the dark surface, before he dipped his fingers in the ice-cold water. It was perhaps for the best. Iain had said it a long time ago; what could Alfred offer the merman? To spend the rest of his life in a tank. What sort of a life was that? The shadow of a humourless smile passed over his face. These past weeks he had avoided to think much of what would expect them on land. Convincing himself everything would be taken care of in due time, he had been able to ignore it. What were the chances they would even allow Arthur to live? He closed his eyes, his brows tightening. No. He shook his head. No, he would have figured something out, he always did. He would have found a way to keep Arthur with him, to give Arthur a good life on land. He would have convinced them Arthur was not a threat.

_Like you did your crew?_

The treacherous thought snaked its way into his mind. He grit his teeth. He would have figured something out. He would.

_The only reason Arthur is not already dead is because you're the captain. You have no such authority on land. _

Alfred opened his eyes. He knew all of this in his heart, and he had known it for a long time. Only now, the feeble attempts at convincing himself otherwise had no effect anymore. Yet despite this… He laughed, a hollow, short sound. In the water his fingers were slowly going numb. Despite this, he was still trying to see through the ocean surface and wanted Arthur to return. He had no delusions of the troubles that would have awaited them on land, but he wanted Arthur back, right now, regardless of the consequences. Love certainly was selfish.

A chill ran through Alfred's body.

Love.

He stared, eyes wide open and unseeing. The hand against his face tightened into a fist.

"Alfred, this is madness," he whispered to himself. Waves of heat rolled over him, made him feel uncomfortably warm in his clothes, even as shivers told him he was freezing. It had just been a day, on the far side of twenty-four hours since he came to terms with having actually missed Arthur and now– everything was coming crashing down all at once, far too fast. He didn't even know where to begin with how wrong and outlandish this was.

He pulled in an unsteady breath, feebly trying to calm himself. He had to think rationally, there had to be a mistake; things like these did not happen so quickly. He had only talked to Arthur properly since leaving the first time _yesterday_. Shakily flattening his hand again he felt a wetness on his face. And it just would not stop.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

Important**: I have changed ch 9 twice, yesterday and one month ago. So for those who you who read that chapter before then, if the whole sing with Arthur's age and the pub keeper's past doesn't add up, it's because I did some changes. :) The story of how Arthur was kidnapped has also been changed in general, and I think it would be a bit important for you all to read it again, just for future reference. ;D**

**Bulwark – the railing of a sail ship, though thicker and more sturdy than a normal railing. (Rail – the top edge of the bulwark)**

**Betaed by the great Black Rose Heart (my regular beta is currently extremely busy).**

**(P.S: In three weeks and four days this story will be two years old! O.o )**


	20. Chapter 20

They flowed down his skin. The tears. Over his fingers, his hand, some even clinging to him still as they reached his chin, and rolled down his throat instead of falling to the wooden boat's edge below. Hot, stinging, never-ending over his boiling skin. Something soft barely touched his face. Slowly moving across his one exposed cheek, blessedly cool on his feverish skin. And for the longest time Alfred could only stare into blurry ocean green, until the temptation to just lean forwards and let gravity drag him limply into its bottomless depths was almost too great.

Except it was not the ocean. They were eyes.

Alfred forgot how to breathe. Then he thrust his hands forwards. He did not care if the boat tipped over, he did not care of the water splashing over him. His arms locked around the merman's torso, he heaved himself backwards and they both tumbled into the belly of the longboat. He pressed the slim, cool body to him, feeling how the skin gave slightly under his strong hold, and it was all he could do to faintly remind himself not to crush the being in his arms. The wood was uncomfortable under his back, but it did not matter. He hid his face in the nape of Arthur's neck, and unable to control the inconstant tremors taking over his body.

It was unbecoming, so very unbecoming of a captain, of a man, but there was nothing he could do. Alfred could no longer control his body, nor stop the tears streaming from his eyes, joining the remnants of seawater on Arthur's moist skin. But even as Alfred hugged the merman as closely against him as he could, it was not nearly enough. A yearning deep within him burned for them to be even closer, but it was not physically possible. Pain he had never before experienced stabbed through Alfred's chest and he pressed his face harder against Arthur, mouth stretching into a soundless weeping grimace. He was only glad no one could see his face. His fingers dug into the merman's skin.

For an unknown period of time they lay like this, Alfred shaking with silent sobs, Arthur not doing anything. Then in the end, a small sigh came from the merman.

"Honestly, what a troublesome child." However, it was said softly, and gentle fingers came to sift through Alfred's hair. Alfred gave one single, breathless chuckle.

"You could have spared another minute to say good bye," he said. He had intended for it to be a teasing gibe, but he must have overestimated his own ability to collect himself, for his voice rebelled against him. It sounded hoarse and broken, and brought with it another wave of too strong emotions. Arthur just nodded – Alfred could feel the motion against the side of his head. He could also feel the fingers still sliding so gently through his hair.

"Yes… I should have," Arthur said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Alfred's eyes were squeezed shut. He did not say anything more after that. Instead, he directed all his focus to his breathing. Deep, slow inhales, hold, exhale. Forcibly keeping a tremble from his breath until gradually it went away. More deep inhales, that cool hand never ceasing its so gentle, soothing caress, until slowly but surely he calmed down. But he did not let go. He relaxed in his awkward, uncomfortable position in the bottom of the boat, the sweet scent of salt and ocean and Arthur wrapping around him.

It took everything he had to finally push Arthur away, gently, sitting them both on opposite sitting planks, he had his jaws clenched so hard his teeth hurt. For a moment, they were in silence, Alfred looking into Arthur's face. That amazing, wonderful face with the glistering green eyes he never thought he would see again.

He had to pull in another deep breath and carded his fingers through his hair, lifting his hand so that it hid his face as he forced his eyes away to rest on the boat edge. Then he straightened, chuckled, dropped his hand, and faced Arthur again, even managing a lopsided smile.

"I apologise," he pressed his mouth into forming a full-fledged grin. "It's been," only minute hesitation "a long day. So, what brings you back again?"

Arthur did not reply at first. He eyed Alfred with that old, unreadable expression, and Alfred felt as though his hastily created facade was far too thin. Finally, with a quiet sigh, Arthur muttered,

"Alfred…-"

"_Arthur._"

Alfred jumped. Eyes flashing to the left, another intense green, so alike yet so different, met him.

"Arthur," Iain repeated, reaching out a hand for the younger mermaid. It was almost dizzying how he went from a hair-raisingly hostile glare at Alfred to a soft tone toward his little brother. "We need ta leave now." Arthur paused only briefly, then he was slowly moving toward the side of the boat and Iain's hand.

All of a sudden Alfred's heart was hammering fast in his chest again, every beat so hard it was bordering painful. Arthur lifted his tail over the edge and the longboat careened slightly. Alfred's mouth went dry. Arthur's hands were on the edge, in a moment he would be gone.

"Should he not be allowed to decide for himself?"

Both mermen stopped mid-movement. It had been nothing but a hoarse croak, the words so quick they slurred into each other. Slowly, unnervingly slowly, Iain's gaze lifted to Alfred, green eyes wide with disbelief. It was replaced by scathing stare.

"I believe we have been over this once afore, _Captain_." Iain's voice was deathly cold.

"That does not change the fact I have yet to actually hear him saying he wants to leave land-life behind for good," Alfred retorted breathlessly. Iain's nose scrunching up with revulsion.

"Are ye just actin', or are ye truly this stupid?" he seethed. "Arthur is a _mer_man. He belongs in th' wa'er. Whit ye're tryin' at would be th' same as a fish sayin' ye could ne'er return ta earth and air. It's _wrong_."

"That might be, but he basically grew up on land, he is more used to being here than in the sea. Besides, dry land has many marvels to offer. Such as plays," it was a pathetic argument, even Alfred could hear that, but it did not matter, "and different foods and- and numerous other things." He had been about to say _music_, a distant memory popping into his mind, but he realised that might do more harm than good just in time to stop himself.

"_Ye-_" Iain snarled, choking on his own words, fury laced thickly in his voice. "Ye have _nae right_. Arthur belongs with the sea, with us, with _his family!_"

"Arthur has the right to make his own choice. Twice you tried to take him back and twice he returned," Alfred felt himself gaining wind in his sails, a sudden strength welling up in him as his back straightened even more.

"Ye're chasin' a fantasy, bairn, ye-"

"Twice he returned to _me._" Alfred interrupted, having hardly heard Iain's words, absorbed by his own. Iain snapped. When next he spoke, his voice had abandoned all calm, screaming, enraged, at Alfred.

"_An' whit do ye think they would do ta him?!" _

"I would protect hi-"

"Och really?" Iain seethed through his teeth, spite and disgust dripping thickly from every letter. How very similar he sounded to that little voice in Alfred's mind. Ice froze his gut and began crawling up his throat. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"I _will_ protect him," he insisted. Though, which one of them was he trying to convince? Iain levelled him with cold eyes, that emotionless, unhuman calm suddenly returned, the heat and intensity from only a second ago vanished. To the merman, this battle was won.

"There is naethin' waitin' fer Arthur once ye reach port."

"You don't know that," Alfred retorted, but even he could hear the meek tone soaking his determination. He had deflated, sinking slightly in on himself again despite his efforts to remain stubbornly upright. The older merman paused only shortly, as though mock waiting for anything more to be said, then turned away.

"Come Arthur, let's-"

"No."

Time seemed to stand still. It took several moments, that felt like far too many minutes, for Alfred's mind to catch up with the single, simple word uttered, and find the one it had come from. However, even when he did, it did not help him understand anything any better. What he saw – it did not make sense. It did not make sense for Arthur to sit there, emotionless apart from a small, sad twinge in his eyes. For Arthur to look at Iain, though with his tail no longer in the water, and hands loosely clutching around the edge of his sitting plank. Alfred's mind simply could not make sense of it.

Arthur shook his head softly. "No," he repeated. "I'm staying."

Iain stared, speechlessly, one hand suspended in mid-air, forgotten.

"…What?" he finally said, little more than a croaked whisper.

"I will remain in the human world."

"Arthur… are ye aware o' whit ye're sayin'?" The wood of the boat bristled slightly under Iain's fingers. "Has all these years- these _decades_ on land taught ye naething?"

"That is just what it has," Arthur replied. "Contrary to your belief brother, I do know quite a bit of what to expect from humans, as you said; I have lived with them for quite a while."

Iain's hand had still not moved from its lifted position. There was no one else to be seen there, in the middle of water and nowhere, yet Alfred had the absent impression a whole world was holding its breath in shock, right underneath the surface. Alfred felt numb. Not from any kind of chill as before, just… numb, and his eyes stared forever straight at Arthur. Even though the merman did not seemed to take any notice of it. He had his attention steadfastly directed at his brother.

Iain's lips parted, as if to speak, but Arthur cut him off before he could begin.

"I will be a liaison."

* * *

><p>"<em>I will be a liaison."<em>

Alfred was still so numb, he could barely feel the wooden oars in his hands. His eyes were wide, as glassed over, locked in a gaze straight ahead as his mind was nothing but white.

"_Arthur, are ye hearin' yerself?" _

He could have just dragged the longboat back to the ship by the rope, but instead he had by pure, old, habit went through the trouble of pulling the oars from the boat floor and getting them position. He hardly even noticed rowing.

_Arthur sighed soundlessly. "Iain, I'm-" _

"_Is this _Captain's_ idiocy contagious, or whit is goin' on?!"_

It did not even faze him when the now slack rope floating around the boat got stuck around the right oar.

"_It is not as though I can never return to the ocean. I will outlive any human I meet, so I would eventually return anyway. What is a few more decades?" _

"…_whit is a few more decades?" The absolute disbelief in Iain's voice had his words coming slow and disjointed. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Waves were lapping against the boat. _

Slowly but surely, with the ever-steady heave of the oars, the ship drew closer. Alfred never turned around even once, the empty horizon gave him nothing to navigate by, but his many years at sea had him steering straight for the ship with ease.

It was impossible to decide whether it was soon or if it took a long while to reach the shadow of his great ship.

"_Arthur, ye cannae do this! I," the older merman pulled in a deep breath, and though it sounded steady, it could not fool anyone. "I forbid ye ta gae with this human." _

_The world fell deadly quiet. _

"_You… forbid …me?" Arthur repeated slowly, staring with glassy eyes at Iain. _

In a wide, perfect circle above the ship the sky could be seen, pitch black with a breath-taking drizzle of clear stars, bordered by slim, grey clouds spanning on to the horizon in every direction. But they did not come nearer, did not make the circle shrink.

"_You have no right!"_

"_Listen ta reason, ye stupid bairne!" Iain yelled straight back. He used the edge of the boat as a lever to push himself up so he towered over the other. Staring down at his little brother, his lips twitched with poorly suppressed anger. But Arthur just glared defiantly back. _

The night breeze whistled, the ocean whispered, and Alfred's strokes of the oars were a near soundless, steady beat, wood slipping smoothly in and out of dark water.

"_Just because I'm younger than you does not mean you can govern my life," Arthur hissed. Sea spray splashed over the edge of the longboat spattering tiny drops up Alfred's coat. _

"_Ye donnae ken whit ye're getting' yerself inta," Iain said, lowly but intensely. _

"_You forget," Arthur retorted hotly, though at the end a bitter tone blurred away the edge of his attack. There was even the smallest twitch in the corner of his mouth, as though a humourless smile would form. But then it was gone. "I believe I know better than anyone." _

A cool shadow swallowed the little boat, the steady groans of great woodwork mingling with the mutters of the water.

_They fell into a loaded silence, weighing heavily around and in-between them. Finally, Iain sunk back into the waves. _

"_Ye'll regret it," he said quietly. _

_For the briefest moment the two mermen's hands touched by each other, a casual accident to anyone who saw it. _

Alfred looked up. The longboat's nose had touched by the ship's side, and with two strokes of the outside oar, he had the boat lined alongside the big vessel. Leaning slightly over the rail far above him was his quartermaster. He threw down the end of two ropes, and after securing them to either end of the boat, Alfred scaled the ladder to see his whole crew waiting silently for him. Without a word a few of them stepped forward and helped their captain haul up the longboat and Arthur.

* * *

><p>When Alfred had crossed the deck to get to his cabin, his step had felt strangely light. This even despite that as he stood there, safe among his crew, the ocean so silent and empty around them, a sudden, placid exhaustion weighed down on him.<p>

It was James who had helped him carry Arthur to the tank, and afterward Alfred had spared a short while to spend with his crew. They had expressed concern for the ominous looking clouds surrounding them, but Alfred eased them with his complete lack of any such emotion, saying most cryptically that he doubted they would come any closer. He waited until the majority of his men had gone to find their hammocks and sleep, sharing a small smile with James as the man headed for the forecastle, familiar maps tucked under his arm.

Alfred breathed deeply in the night air. It was with a strange mix of far too contradicting feelings that he slowly turned toward his door. Both a pleasant serenity and gnawing dread was floating thickly through him, and it was far too confusing to put his finger on exactly what caused either. A frown creased his forehead and brows as he eyed the door. He wanted to see Arthur. That much – and he closed his eyes briefly – that much he knew, the silent need nearly enough to make his feet move of their own accord. It was as though the suddenrealisation of his had opened… _something_ that was impossible to close again, and it caused any and every feeling or thought that had to do with Arthur to course far too strongly in him. How very quickly things could change –it was frightening.

But it was not natural, a nauseating notion swirled in his gut and up his throat. They were not of the same species, not even remotely the same age. The hand on the door handle was gripping too tightly, his knuckles white and protruding sharply. He was torn between bursting through the door and running as far away as possible. A small sarcastic voice in his head reminded him they were on a ship, so there was not exactly anywhere he _could_ run. So really, that left him only one option.

Trying in vain to settle his nerves, Alfred entered the cabin. Arthur's attention was on him even before he stepped over the threshold. At first, neither of them said anything. Alfred walked slowly to his desk and hung his coat around the backrest.

"Are they all right?" Arthur asked abruptly.

Alfred jerked, ripped out of his deeply circling thoughts. "Who?" he replied intelligently, looking toward the tank with his hands leaning on the coat and chair. Arthur just very lightly rolled his eyes.

"The crew. You know," his voice turned into a mutter. "Seeing as how I am here again."

"Oh," Alfred said, perplexed. Then Arthur's words actually reached him and he broke free of his semi frozen state, even smiling flickeringly as he said "_oh" _again, though this time more enlightened. "Yes," he added. "They'll be fine. I believe they are starting to realise you're not a threat to us."

Again silence fell down between them. Alfred sunk into his chair, and a dull ache in his thigh began making itself known again. He shifted slightly in his seat. Under the pretence of recording the day he pulled out his logbook and did not have to look back at Arthur. Frustration was starting to simmer in him in addition to everything else. He was glad Arthur was there, relieved even, at the merman's presence. However, he could not let Arthur know of this which he had realised. How had he used to behave when they were together? All of a sudden he went completely blank, and mixed paranoia and extreme self-consciousness came over him. What had they been? Friends? If he imagined Arthur was Toris, and treated him accordingly, would the merman notice a difference? …What exactly had they been to each other that made Arthur come back rather than go with his family?

Alfred paused in his cluttering with pen and ink, which had become almost frantic, and stared down at the leather bound logbook. Why _had _the merman-

"Why did you stay?"

He voiced the question before he even thought to speak. He did not turn around to look, his gaze still fixed unseeingly on the book, but he could hear the sharp ripple of moving water.

"I-" the merman's voice hesitated, dissipating into the air.

Alfred sat rigid. What was this? It was almost as though he did not want to know the answer. Did he want Arthur to leave after all? It would certainly save him a lot of trouble. But that would not make sense, after everything he had done and gone through just because Arthur was not there. Nothing made sense at all. However, at that first time, he had not known the reason for it all, the cause of his own reaction and subsequently his actions toward his crew. Now he did. Perhaps it was still possible to save the situation, if Arthur went with his family, perhaps the feelings would go away with him given time.

He lifted a hand to rub wearily at his eyes, his heart sinking with the realisation that followed and the jab of bitter selfishness it brought with it: He could not let Arthur go. He did not want to. He turned in his seat-

-and stared, stunned.

Arthur's face beamed a bright red, the colour only amplified by his otherwise so pale skin.

"Wh… what's the matter?" Alfred asked perplexed. This was definitely not what he had expected. If possible, the colour became even brighter, Arthur glaring at the tank edge, refusing to meet Alfred's eye. Alfred leaned slightly forwards – carefully avoiding to put weight on his bad thigh – and his brows, which at first had shot up high, furrowed.

"Arthur, why did you not go with the other merpeople?"

He tried to crouch where he sat, as though to look into the merman's face from below and force him to look back, even though this was really impossible so long as Alfred was sitting on a chair several feet away. Arthur plucked at the tank edge, giving it all his attention, as though it was something extremely interesting.

"I- well –you," he tried, but his voice hitched after every word, as though he had no idea how to continue from there. His eyes flickered slightly, only once straying close to Alfred, though refusing to look directly at him. His fingers abandoned the wood to fiddle subconsciously with each other instead. "I-" Arthur made another attempt, and looked completely lost.

And despite everything that was going on, despite the mess in his head, Alfred burst out laughing.

It started as a twitch in the right corner of his mouth, then, snorting softly at the sight in front of him, it developed into a full-fledged, hearty laugh. He could not help it. Arthur looked so flustered and furiously uncomfortable, even his ears – barely visible through locks of hair – beat red. Alfred had no doubt his troubles would revisit him later, but right now, with the merman stuttering and fidgeting so, it was impossible to stay miserable. It was equally impossible to stifle the little, teasing remark;

"What's the matter Arthur? You're usually so articulate."

Arthur gaped at him. "You-" he sputtered, then exclaimed vehemently "You're insufferable!" and he ducked so violently into the water that quite a lot of it splattered to the floor. The fact that the tank had a glass side however, kind of the defeated the point as Alfred could still see the merman perfectly well. Arthur promptly turned his back on Alfred, though his terribly fetching red colour was still visible as a light dusting across his shoulders, which Alfred observed amusedly.

He was still grinning when he turned back to his deck, shaking his head, and settling to actually take record of the day this time. Jotting down the date on the left side of the first line, he described the weather and chuckled to himself. That merman was quite something. He swiftly listed the day's events, and as always kept the details of the merman to a strictly work-related, bare minimum.

_The merman has chosen to remain on board the ship._

He capped the inkbottle. It was time he went to bed, unless he wanted to sleep until nightfall the next day. Arthur had not made another sound as he wrote, though Alfred was not surprised. He had been left in blessed peace by his own thoughts, and had not pursued them either, staying in the shallow top of his mind. He intended to slip into sleep before his troubles could catch up with him.

However, as he was about to close the logbook, something else entirely caught him. He gazed at his own words, having raised the left half of the book up in a vertical position, just about to close it, but now he hesitated. Slowly, soundlessly, he lowered the left side of the cover back to the desk top.

…_has chosen…_

Arthur had actually chosen to stay on board the ship. First now did the full reality of this hit him. His mouth went suddenly dry. Rather than going with his family, returning to the ocean he was born in, Arthur had chosen to stay. With Alfred. His gut did an unauthorised flip and lurched, his face sinking into his hand, so it covered his mouth, and his eyes had gone wide. Arthur was no longer aboard the ship because Alfred made him or because he was a captive. He was there of his own free will.

The ship was completely quiet around him, barely even a groan of wood to distract him. Arthur still had not made a sound; perhaps he had somehow fallen asleep. Alfred hoped so. It must have been hours since they returned from outside –morning should be coming soon, his racing mind franticly noted. But no soft glow was visible through the arched, thick windows, only blackness and two hazy orbs of light swaying slowly. He was all alone with his thoughts.

Alfred hid his face in both his hands and was startled by how he could feel his skin burning against his fingers. He hoped more than anything that the merman truly was asleep, but he did not dare to turn around to check. He sat rigid, staring into the sightlessness of his own palms for a whole of three breathless minutes. Then he abruptly stood, the second after cursing himself as the chair legs made sharp protesting sounds against the floor, spun on his heel, and headed for the bed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the merman. He did not look to have moved, but Alfred was also trying to shut him from his peripheral entirely, so it was hard to say. He quickly stripped out of everything apart from his trousers and shirt – or as quickly as his thigh would allow, and dove under the covers, turning to face away from the rest of the room and tucking the soft duvet up to his chin.

_Go to sleep_ became a chant in his head, even though a rational part of his brain told him that would really just work toward the opposite, and an irrational part of his brain obnoxiously told it to go drown itself.

A chill surged suddenly through the room. It settled, as though the very air had turned to liquid without being wet, draping itself heavily over Alfred and everything else. In an instant Alfred was completely still. All other musings had left him, focus turned sharply outward, taking in the room without moving and without looking. At least this verified one thing; Arthur was asleep, for this was surely not his work. It made Alfred briefly ponder if the merman would wake up if he called his name. But no, Alfred knew what was coming, he supposed a part of his subconscious had really just been counting down the hours until it happened, and it was meant for him, not Arthur.

"I hope fer his sake ye understand whit ye've done."

Complete silence followed the words. Thick, heavy, suffocating, cold, but Alfred did not make any visual signs of it affecting him. Using his elbows to prop himself up, he leisurely settle against the neatly decorated headboard, using it as a backrest.

"You know, I see what Arthur meant, you truly do not like humans," he remarked with a sort of half annoyed aloofness. He did not look to find the green eyes surely glaring at him from some or other part of his room. He gave a sigh that turned into a small yawn, which was all an act to complete his behaviour of unperturbed laziness. He got the distinct impression of being circled, even though he could still not see anything, calmly gazing at the ceiling and arched windows in turn. He stretched, shifting slightly.

"Is it so hard to believe a human can be goo-"

"What do ye get out o' this?"

Suddenly, Iain was right in front of him. It had been without a sound, without any forewarning. His hands slammed hard against the wooden bedpost, caging Alfred between them. Iain's face was so close, Alfred could _feel_ the pressure of the air between them. But while the merman's eyes were ablaze with such heavy anger and loathing it was nearly as though they had a physical form Alfred could feel boring into him, his voice betrayed no emotion. It was like an ice-cold gust that chilled Alfred to his very marrow.

"What is in this fer ye?"

"What- …what do you m-" Alfred managed to say, perplexed, his act slipping.

Iain eyed him. Slowly he came even closer, but even as Alfred could feel the sensation of Iain's skin, Iain's lips speaking slowly against him, they never actually touched.

"I am nae naïve," Iain's breath brushed across Alfred's skin, across his chin, across his neck. Alfred was staring ahead, but could see nothing apart from the darkness of night. "Ye're a human, yer loyalties lie with yer oon kind. Ye will hand him over ta th' authorities, an' he will never see th' light o' day again." Iain lingered where Alfred's artery pulsed in his throat. "Arthur gave ye quite th' convenient excuse dinnae he? Bein' a liaison, he wonnae even suspect anything when ye introduce him ta yer leaders."

"You're wrong," came Alfred's strangled protest. He could not move.

"Och, really?" Iain replied in humourless humour. Suddenly he was gone. Alfred could not feel anything, no presence close to his own, nothing but the air forcing its way into him with every open-mouthed, shallow breath, as though trying to drown him in dry water. Alfred had thought he had managed to get accustomed to the merman's fierce strength, that he could challenge it, that he, Alfred, could oppose Iain. He had manage to before. But it was clear to him now that the merman had always exercised a certain restraint. Even know, a tiny, bitter thought wormed in Alfred's head, Iain had held himself back; he had not laid a single finger on Alfred. Not once had they actually physically touched.

"Or perhaps,"

Alfred froze. Iain's voice was right by his ear, low and clear, but without the touch of breath. It made it so distinctly nonhuman.

"Th' books gave ye ideas."

There were no other signs of the merman, no testimony of him being in the room, nothing but his voice in Alfred's ear, so close as though they were sitting right next to each other. Still all of Alfred's senses told him there was nothing there.

"It could make ye th' strongest captain on th' seas. A temptation hard ta resist."

Alfred's mind spun, it felt as though the bed could vanish from under him at any given time, plummet him into an endless abyss.

"I- …I don't know what you are talking about," he choked gruffly. There was a pause, he waited, barely breathing.

"Chapter three, page 208," Iain's voice shifted around him. "_Being kind toward a mermaid can be rewarding and may even bring good fortune. If a mermaid takes a fancy to you, she might warn you of coming storms, lead you to a good place to fish, or even save you from drowning." _

"_One legend tells of a ship builder whose ships could not be sunk, the reason for which was that one his relatives had been kindly toward a mermaid and she granted him one wish. He asked that none of his ships, nor that of his descendants, would ever sink." _

An unmeasurable period of time coiled between them as Alfred's swimming mind tried to make sense of the words, processing slowly, as though through honey.

"I never read that," he said, when he at last remembered the books he had completely forgotten, and which he no longer knew where were. Upon the realisation, his eyes flickered in reflex, but he could not spot them. Then again, even if they had been lying on his desk, he doubted he would have recognised them in the dark.

Searing green flashed right in front of him. It froze him to the spot, at the same time making him strangely dizzy and nauseous, as the eyes looked to be both at the other end of the room and less than an inch from him. But he only got the swiftest glimpse of them before they were gone again, and everything told Alfred he was alone apart from his own prickling knowledge that he was definitely not.

"Do ye even realise exactly how much he sacrificin' fer yer sake?" there was something forced over the voice now. Something testily controlled, something nearly hesitant. "Ye claim humans can be good. Then try to open your eyes and see the folly in this. Arthur will not be happy on land; he needs the ocean. Can you live with this on your conscience?"

Alfred's mouth opened, closed, opened, it was a struggle to get anything past his own lips. "I…-" He was cut off. It could be best described as a hiss, perhaps, except it was not a sound, more a sensation, and yet not even that either. Alfred did not notice how his breath stopped in his throat as he waited.

When Iain spoke again, the tone was low, serious, filling the room into every corner, yet thin and sharp as a needle, and sounding as though it came from the inside of Alfred's mind.

"Chapter three, page 208.

"_On the other hand, should a man try to be unkind toward a mermaid, attempt to take advantage of her, or otherwise harm her, her wrath will be terrible. Mermaids are said to have the power to call forth storms, floods, and even tidal waves. A mermaid's vengeance may not include only you, but your family as well. Her vengeance may even extend to your entire village or town. Whole coasts have been destroyed when a mermaid has been wronged._"

When silence next settled, Alfred knew he was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N<strong>

**First off, I have three very special people to thank. **

Chiramelacarne** for your soothing words and this AWESOME PIECE! **** deviantart art/Norway-405495929**** oh holy heavens, you have no idea how happy it made me. It's not fanart, per see, but more to me personally (ish?). It makes me weep with joy every time I look at it ;^; (seriously, you have NO IDEA how much this means to me) It really helped me keep my spirits up. **

Sunny_Blue_Sky** for another amazing piece of fanart. Honestly, it's so beautiful, it's just... amazing. **** **paper-shooting-star  
>tumbl <strong>****post/63918147674/mer-arthur-for-thrennas-usuk-fanf ic-everyone-go And please check out the rest of her tumblr account! **

Miyuu . des-chan** for being so incredibly sweet to me. :D **

**Thank you so so much, and also the rest of you who reviewed. I'm having a bit of a rough patch writing this story at the moment, and these three in particular really helped me out. **

**2. I'm sorry for taking so long. **

**3. This story is two years old now! Two years and seven days. Quite fitting that this is the 20****th**** chapter. **

**4. This has not been betaed, so if you see any mistakes, please point them out to me. '^' **


	21. Chapter 21

"_Will you still allow me to be your captain?" _

* * *

><p>Three days. Three long days, seventy-two hours, passed before Alfred finally admitted – despite his attempts to tell himself otherwise – one simple fact: it was awkward. The situation, the very <em>air<em>, between the merman and himself was agonizingly awkward. Each morning waking up, he would glance at Arthur, who without fail was always awake before him. They would greet each other; Alfred would smile and shuffle about as he got dressed in silence – apart from when he made half-hearted attempts at conversation. There was no other word better equipped to describe the air between them other than _awkward._

Though it was not for a lack of trying on Alfred's part, (or so he assured himself vehemently). At least he was not running away – _quite_ as much, at any rate – as he had done before when the mood had been… _tense_ between them.

Arthur read plays, Alfred red maps. He brought the merman food, and every now and again, they would embark on casual conversations, managing a shallow outward façade of normality. However, below the surface, Alfred's brain was firing on every engine whenever he was around the merman; measuring his own movements and words to the finest details only to end up regretting more than half of them. Such as the time when he had forgotten himself and sat staring at Arthur reading until a knock on the door had woken him, the quartermaster having wanted something Alfred did not catch at all. Or, that time when he gave Arthur dinner and sat down on the tank edge, -or heaven forbid all the times he had turned on his heel, about to enter his cabin, losing his nerve and coming up with one laughable excuse after the other as to why he was suddenly needed out on deck for a little while longer.

It was not until the early hours of day four that he realised something that gave him enough pause to stop, halfway toward the helm, without noticing: Despite being cramped together in the relatively limited space that was the ship he had completely forgotten about the existence of his crew for a full three days. He had been so preoccupied with Arthur, even simply steering the ship slipped his mind more than once per day. A bitter aftertaste crept in on him as he slowly got himself moving up the stairs. Whilst the situation with the tailed creature in his cabin was indeed very real, also another situation sorely needed his attention. One that should have been his first priority, but which he had managed to avoid, then forget, these past few days. In a weak moment, one might claim he was only doing what was necessary to keep his sanity and health, but that excuse was definitely pathetic.

The men scurried to and fro in varying degrees of urgency and leisure. Loud and spirited, they were every bit the crew Alfred knew from years as a captain. However, after everything that had happened during this voyage he found he could not find peace observing them. Instead, creeping in on him was a paranoid worry that the same thing was going to happen again, that it was only a matter of time before this return to normalcy too would be ruined. His grip tightened subconsciously around the wheel as his thoughts trailed hotly after each other in his mind. He knew what he had to do. He knew it should have been the first thing he did after they escaped the pirates. He wondered if he would be the sole reason for everything falling apart again. It seemed impossible that it would be smooth sailing from here on home, though a small part of him feebly tried to protest that the downs had to stop eventually.

And so it was, that this fourth day was subject to a bout of Alfred's heaviest procrastination yet. Midday slid into afternoon, which grew darker far too quickly. A low sun and early-lit lanterns bathed the deck intermittently in a warm glow, and long, cool shadows. Gathering more courage than he had ever needed before to talk to… well… _anyone_, Alfred called Toris to him. But he was unable to proceed from there. As the quartermaster softly walked up the few steps and came to stand beside him, Alfred stayed frustratingly silent. Toris, from what Alfred could see of him from the corner of his eye, looked neither surprised nor concerned, merely joined him in gazing out across the crew.

Alfred sighed. An involuntary, barely noticeable motion. Between his brows a small crease had formed.

"The crew," he began, but his voice drifted off away from him before he could finish the sentence. Yet, to his left, Toris smiled, giving one soundless, soft chuckle.

"You underestimate them, Captain. They trust you now as they have always done."

The frown did not leave Alfred's brow, but Toris' steady, assuring voice managed to soothe his unrest slightly. Alfred had to marvel for a moment at his quartermaster's unfaltering ability. He sighed again, though this time it was less of a spasm. He noticed Toris glancing at him, then the quartermaster was suddenly headed back down the stairs. With unrivalled efficiency he soon had the entire crew gathered on the main deck – some showing signs of just having gone to bed – during which time Alfred could only watch the growing group in disbelief from the helm. Toris wasn't… he found Toris' eyes as every single man had been rounded up, and the quartermaster gave him an encouraging smile. Alfred knew several captains would have sprung into rage at the very nerve, but he just stared back, speechless.

"I-" he began feebly after several long moments of nothing, but knew at once his voice had no hope of reaching the crew below him. He quickly rinsed his throat, and tried again.

"Men," he began, with a sturdy self-assuredness he did not feel at all. "It's been long since we passed the halfway mark of our journey, and if our course stays true, it should not be long until we are home. As it is however," he stood evenly on both feet, "there is one thing I wish to bring up with you before we continue." Only his years of chasing murderers and swindlers kept his expression from betraying his coiling innards. "A lot has happened these past few days alone, which has left certain matters unresolved. While I am grateful none of you have brought it to my attention again, I highly doubt either of you have forgotten it." A breath. Minute hesitation.

"_Will you still allow me to be your captain_?"

Silence.

He did not mention when or whom had first taken the title from him those days ago. That was not an accusation he wished to make. Alfred looked at them, all these faces he knew and trusted and cared for, and waited, heart pounded in his chest. Though, he realised, slightly surprised, it was not out of anxiety, but soft despair. He had failed his duties as Captain to his crew. A captain was the keel of a crew. A captain, while he knew many who disagreed with him, was a position that was slowly granted through trust and not by promotion.

Gradually, a quiet murmur spread. However, among them, he could see a few whom did not partake, and their faces nudged at a warm feeling of affection and gratitude. Yet, were they to attempt influencing the rest of the crew in their decision, he would still have stopped them. But he believed they knew that, for they remained steadily looking at him, silently waiting; Eska, James, Toris, Corey, and Adrian.

Eventually, the older carpenter stepped forth. "From here onwards, what will the situation with the merman be?" Alfred briefly bit his teeth together. It was a question he had expected, and suspected they had wanted to ask for a while. He inhaled deliberately.

"If I remain as captain, he remains with us as well. I believe there is a lot we can learn from him, and, with time, we may be able to forge peace with the ocean."

A soft mutter fluttered through the men. The carpenter, having momentarily turned away, met Alfred's eyes. "May we speak frankly, Captain?"

"You may." Alfred dipped his head once. The carpenter came half a step closer. "Alfred," he said. "We recognise that the merman saved our lives, and we are not taking this lightly. But the crew and I are not comfortable with him on board, especially with the general history of events of this voyage."

Alfred nodded.

"You have behaved in what we experienced as a reckless manner throughout this mission, as well as in ways we have never known you to before."

Alfred nodded again.

"However, you have never let us down before either, and we are all humans – even captains. And no one here is better equipped for leading a crew and ship than you. We have therefore decided that we shall let all those years we have served under you weigh heavier. We wish to keep you as our captain." Alfred couldn't help the relief washing through him. The carpenter caught his eyes once more; "This of course on the understanding that we have the freedom to at any time appoint a new captain should we feel our safety is threatened unnecessarily."

"Understood." Alfred nodded a final time.

There was a pause of silence as private familiarity slid back behind a professional working relationship.

"Dismissed," said their captain, and the group swiftly dissolved.

As they returned to their posts or beds, Alfred noticed their fertive* glances, and he realised the meeting had suddenly brought the same question to them all: Where were the merpeople? Alfred's forehead creased. The possibility that they had given up was simply not plausible.

Soon the ship had succumbed to the cool quiet of early night. If the men on first guard seemed to keep an extra eye over the edge of railing, it didn't matter.

He breathed in deeply, trying to calm the tension still left in his joints. Absently drumming his fingers against the wheel, he peered up. At the very top of the main mast, dancing tiredly in the wind, the flag of the British colonies was barely visible. All its colours faded to black, it could have born any sign at all.

Was Arthur still keeping the merfolk at bay?

Far above the flag, the very first stars blinked at him. There was no drastic borders in the weather – in fact, there was not a cloud to be seen. It would be a beautiful night, and Alfred deemed that reason enough to stay where he was, watching the sky change its covers and James settle on the forecastle. It wasn't until Eska came and pointedly took the wheel from him that he resigned to his human need for sleep. He smiled bleakly at the helmsman who nodded back.

* * *

><p>Arthur was awake. Of course he was. His green eyes followed Alfred as he undressed, asked the merman if he was hungry – to which he received a no – and climbed into bed.<p>

Alfred had every intention of falling asleep. But of course, after what was more than minutes but less than an hour, he caught himself still with his eyes open. Suddenly, and without thought as he stared at the wooden wall, he had said,

"We are on a trial period."

Having been facing away from the room, he now he turned on his back. Arthur didn't make a sound in return, but Alfred did not need to look at him to know he was listening.

"So we have to be on our best behaviour." It was a frail attempt at a joke that promptly fell flat in the still air. He turned around with a half-hearted grin. Sparkling emerald, enhanced by water and glass, looked back at him. And somehow, a still calm settled over him, his grin melting into a genuine, small smile.

"They're warming up to you, you know. It may not seem like it, and it will take a long time yet, but I believe we will get there." In the quiet night air all was peaceful, the reality of daytime seeming far away. Arthur's eyes gleamed in the dark and Alfred felt so content just gazing into them. "How's the water?" he asked at last, voice barely a slow, drowsy whisper. Arthur blinked once. "Is the temperature comfortable?" Alfred went on. "We should change it in the morning." His eyes travelled along the wooden edge and a forgotten memory rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind: an excited voice, a glowing face. Arthur after he swam under the ship for the first time. Arthur after his first swim with his kind, his family. Compared to the whole ocean, so much of it uncharted by men, the tank was not even the size of a grain of sand. Yet here he was, by his own decision. A warm sensation filled Alfred, as his eyes drifted. But along with it, it brought a stale aftertaste. _Why_?

His time in freedom with his family had been so short-lived, he had given it up for a small box with barely enough water to be called a puddle. Alfred inhaled sharply. But he didn't actually intend to speak.

"Do you-" the words stuck in his throat. _Do you regret it?_ His mouth was open, only the smallest sounds coming from it as he grasped for the words. Arthur slowly emerged from the water, now eyeing him through air from across the tank edge, the smallest frown between his brows. _Do you regret it? _

He couldn't. Alfred closed his mouth, smiled, shifted slightly. "Do you need anything?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Good," Alfred still smiled. "That is good. Good, good." He tucked the duvet all the way up to under his chin. "Well, if you do need something, just spray some water at me and I will probably wake." Alfred grinned, confident he had made it look convincing this time. "Probably," he added for painful comic effect.

"I will," replied Arthur, slipping back underwater.

Alfred nodded several times, remained for a moment looking at the tank, then lifted the duvet and turned back around to the wall. Needless to say, he did not sleep that night.

* * *

><p>Alfred pulled a hand through his hair, ruffled it wearily, and let his hand fall back down to briefly rub his face. With nothing to be said on the weather, and men who had been bedridden from their encounter with the pirates steadily declared healthy by Gervase, the day had all the qualifications to be marked as perfect. Regardless, Alfred was not the least bit relaxed.<p>

He was not on the helm for a change, instead standing on the forecastle with the seemingly never-ending ocean spanning out in front of him in every direction. Midday had passed, dinner was approaching, and Arthur had been given fresh water.

Alfred sighed, rubbing his eyes with the one hand that had yet to leave his face. Yes indeed, such a simple task. What had been a thoughtless side note yesterday, was the summit of naïve, stupid things to say today. The crew had formed a human conveyor belt from tank to shipside with four buckets. James had helped him lift the merman, Toris preparing the wet blanket. Alfred had submerging his arms in the tank, the edges of his rolled up shirt arms touching the surface and water immediately soaking them and climbing up the fabric. Standing in the fresh evening air he feebly wished rubbing his face would eventually rub away his thoughts, but no matter what he did, he could not rid himself of the feel of Arthur's skin. The last thing he had wanted was to let go as James and he had lowered the merman to the floor, and as he wrapped Arthur in the blanket he had _accidentally_ let his fingertips come in contact with the merman as much as he could get away with. Alfred groaned silently. His hand stopped over his mouth and he looked up at the charmingly blue sky, and the same question that had been troubling him for many days swirled in his mind.

_How did this happen? _

Never mind he had never felt attracted to another man before in his life – Alfred chuckled humourlessly at himself. What would normally have been of great concern was less than trivial in the face of all the other issues with this. For instance how a human developing such feelings for a being of a completely different species was even _possible._

The initial heart-pounding, cold-sweating confusion that would overtake him when he mulled this over and over had eventually subsided after a few days, now only leaving confusion as Alfred was still unable to get it from his mind, day or night. At times he could not help himself plucking at accusations his crew had made so many times, but he always landed on the same conclusion. It was simply not possible or plausible that this in any way could be the merman's intentional doing. After all, Alfred gazed blindly at the wood of the railing under his fingers, he knew what it felt like to be controlled by their power. That was not to say he doubted they had the ability to affect humans in a subtle fashion like that as well, but who could have foreseen it would truly feel this genuine. ...No. No, no, no, no. Certainly, the merpeople's powers were a mystery, but it just was not possible. There was one vital detail that did not add up: Arthur would have no motive. If this indeeed had been his doing, he would have indirectly been his own reason for being trapped back in the small tank.

Alfred shook his head, trying to clear it. None of this made any sense; it only sent him in circles. No, there was only one reason for this, and that was himself. There was something wrong with his head, and whether it was caused by stress or trauma, it was something that could not be known to anyone else. He leaned his face in hands, propped against the rail. Fanning out his fingers he peered dully down on the water below. In the shadow of the ship's bow the water was pitch black, white crustations bursting to life, tumbling over each other only to be swallowed again and again and again, and again. In the end a silent voice in the back of his mind pointed out that regardless of the variables, the bottom-line did not change:

Alfred was happy to have Arthur there.

However, closely following was the nasty aftertaste of guilt. Whenever he looked at the merman, the mental image of the cramped, tiny tank plastered itself to his eyelids. The knowledge that that would be Arthur's home from now on – maybe even for decades onwards – made his gut plummet even further to the point of self-loathing. Yet, nothing made this notion stronger, than his own treacherous little streak of selfishness. If Arthur asked for freedom, he did not know if he could grant it.

Alfred closed his fingers, closed his eyes, but despite his attempt could not close out the world. The merry wind, the merry waves, the merry bustle of sound all around. The day was so damned _merry_ Alfred wanted to be sick.

How long he remained like this, he did not know. He only untangled himself and straightened when he grimly reminded himself he didn't need to give the crew any more excuses to worry for him. With a heavy sigh he gave the railing a couple quick taps with his hand in what was intended to be a brief, _merry_ rhythm. Then he turned around, opting to causally lean against the rail instead. Dinner must have been served, he noticed, for there were far less men milling around than he remembered there being. Tipping his head back he saw Aaron descending the rope works, his post having been taken over by another sailor, which only confirmed Alfred's assumption. He watched for a while as the younger man nimbly made his way down, more closely resembling a monkey than a human. His familiarity with the rough rope and deathly height was clearly recognisable.

Alfred pushed off from the rail. It was time for dinner, he had no doubts he would eventually hear about it from the quartermaster otherwise. No matter how non-existent his appetite was.

He was already halfway across the deck before the sound of running footsteps caught through his deep train of thoughts. Throwing a glance across his shoulder, not actually actively curious, but more as a reflex. He had to look again however, when he saw it was the look-out and realised the man was in fact headed straight for him.

Having been discovered, Aaron slowed, nearly falling into a hesitant shuffle for a second before he must have caught himself. Alfred stopped; that was not at all like the normally brash look-out.

"Is something the matter?" Alfred asked. Just as he verbally reached out to the other man, it hit him how long it had been since he had talked to Aaron. They had been rather close friends, similar in character and having shared many twinkling glances of amusement when others were annoyed or otherwise in a foul mood. Where he stood, he could not even remember when exactly it was they had stopped talking.

"May I have a word with you, Captain?" the look-out asked, uncharacteristically tentative.

"Of course you may." Alfred took half a step toward the other. "What can I do for you?"

Aaron's gaze flickered, and for a moment it seemed he would not say anything after all. "Actually," he said slowly in the end. "I was hoping we could take it in your cabin." More confused for each second that passed, Alfred simply nodded, indicating with one hand for the look-out to go on ahead. He obeyed equally wordlessly, quickly opening the door and holding it for Alfred to walk through first.

"Thank you," he said, trying to emit a comfortable aura in an attempt at easing the look-out out of his strange mood.

Alfred settled against his desk, half sitting on it, turning his attention to Aaron, who had stopped right inside the door. "What has happene-"

"I came to apologise."

If Alfred thought he had been caught off guard earlier, he was stunned to silence now.

"To you both."

This was not a conversation concerning ship or crew or faulty equipment. Alfred fell serious. "To my knowledge, you have nothing to apologise for," he said matter-of-factly, but not unkind.

"It may not be of your knowledge at present, but I have both gone behind your back and betrayed you on more than one occasion during this voyage."

Alfred shifted over into his chair. With eyes steady on Aaron he leaned forwards, fingers intertwined and forearms resting against his knees. Like this, without a word, he told the look-out he would be carefully listened to, and taken seriously. But he would also forgiven, no matter what the younger man thought he had done and how he appeared to think otherwise. Aaron inhaled, briefly closing his eyes before steadily directing his gaze straight at Alfred – or at least as steadily as he could muster, though his eyes had the slightest flicker to them.

"I was the one who first made the crew aware you seemed to have…. That you had started to think differently of the merman than just an item of work to be brought back. I was the one who made the crew believe the merman was controlling you. Without me, the crew would not have reacted as strongly as they did."

For a time Alfred said nothing. He caught Aaron's eyes and held them, mulling over the younger man's words.

"Thank you, for telling me," Alfred said at last. He got up heavily. "But you are mistaken," the look-out flinched and Alfred smiled. "There is still nothing to forgive. You acted with the wellbeing and safety of your captain and fellow sailors in mind. For that you should be asking for a medal, not my pardon."

As he spoke, Alfred had crossed the floor. He placed one hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"Taking on the full blame as you have done is admirable, and if anything just emphasizes your loyalty to me. You are a good man, Aaron." Alfred squeezed his shoulder briefly, and finally the younger man's expression began to relax, tension seeping from him by his captain's reassurance. But rather than excuse himself, Alfred watched curiously as he turned next to the tank. Stopping one foot from it, he squared his shoulders and looked straight at Arthur.

Having been around him for so long, Alfred recognized the blank expression on the merman's face which at the moment most likely covered a heavy guard and suspicion.

"Mer-" Aaron began, then stutteringly corrected himself. "Arthur." He stiffly thrust out his hand, a bit too quick for comfort, Arthur flinching backwards.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur's mask dropped.

Slowly crossing his arms, Alfred watch in silent amazement, an affectionate warmth swelling through him, erasing his first puzzled expression.

"I am sorry for making the crew suspicious of you. I have treated you with prejudice. I realise that merfolk are just as much individuals as humans, and I see now that you never meant us any harm. After a long consideration of the past several weeks I deeply regret my behaviour." Aaron sucked in a breath, hand still extended, his eyes steadfastly locked with Arthur's. "If…" he continued hesitantly. "If it is at all possible, I hope you can forgive me, and that maybe we can start over?"

A proud smile Alfred could no longer hold back finally spread on his lips.

Arthur stared up at the look-out, a number of emotions passing on his face, more than half of them intangible. He glanced at the hand and back up to the face, and for the longest time silence reigned.

Then, slowly, locking their gazes, Arthur accepted the hand.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Today it's been exactly one year since I last updated. I can barely believe it. All I can say is life got hectic and I had to take a break because of health reasons, as well as currently starting my final year at uni. <strong>**But I stand by what I have always said: This story **_**will**_** be finished. **

**There are a few people I would like to thank for this chapter. One is **Sxvgwii, **who gave me such a wonderful review for ch 19, I was so humbled to read your words, and I truly hope you will return to this story one day, even though I took so long. **

**The second is for HK (Guest). **_**HK:It is now 2014 *still waiting for the next chapter***_**. This review was left for me a few weeks ago, I think. That someone is waiting, even eleven months after the last chapter, I was speechless with gratitude. It was actually what kick-started this chapter. **

**Third: the "Guest" who has been reviewing almost every chapter, keeping me writing with each one. You could never annoy me! **

**And lastly: **_**Thank you so so much every single one of you who reads, and thank you so so much every single one of you who leaves a review. When it comes down to it, I would not be writing without all of you, and I hope you liked the chapter despite its beyond lateness. **_


	22. Chapter 22

He sat up, for a moment trapped and fighting desperately until he realised that was damp fabric, not hands, clinging to him. Chest heaving, skin slick with cold sweat, he mapped out his surroundings. As recognition hit and he took control of his breathing, the dream that woke him was already slipping away. He closed his eyes briefly, then in an abrupt flurry of movement threw the covers aside, grabbed his coat and slipped his feet into the boots as he left the stuffed darkness his cabin.

The cold air that brushed up against him was a welcome embrace, and he sighed deeply, immediately cooling down. His nightclothes practically soaking, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be freezing, but for now he did not care.

Polished wood smooth under his fingers he let his hand slide along the railing as he walked the length of his ship to the prow. Leaning forward, forearms resting against the rail, he gazed unseeing into the black sky. His thoughts tracing nonsense patterns in his mind, and it was only when his eyes dipped toward the water that he returned to himself. He flinched back. It had only been for a split second; now black water once again all he could see where he was sure piercing green eyes had just met his. But it was only his own mind playing tricks. He shook his head slowly as though to rid it of any other lurking demons, after-images from the dream he could not remember.

Even so, he did not feel like standing there anymore and retreated to his cabin, only to change his mind in front of the door. Ascending the helm he went to the very back, sitting down with the railing as a backrest. He observed Eska with half lidded eyes. He had not said any word or given any sign that could pass for a greeting to the helmsman, but knew it would not matter. This was not the first time he had just needed for a place to himself to think, and Eska always indulged him without comment. Leaning his head back, Alfred was grateful for the years in service they had had together.

* * *

><p>The morning's first flicker of sunlight had yet to come, though several stars had already been whisked away. If Alfred had not known for a fact it was not physically possible – at the very least not without dying – he would have been convinced he had turned completely into ice. When the first teeth of cold had nibbled at his toes, rather than moving, he had opted to not move a muscle. Clamping down on the automatic shiver as his whole body slowly went numb, he eventually lost all sense of actually being cold. Moving to stand up now, however, he was reaping the results of his actions. With a quiet groan he gradually stretched and bent aching joints.<p>

Upon passing Eska, he briefly put a hand on the helmsman's shoulder. "Good morning," he said with a smile thrown across his shoulder. Stepping somewhat stiffly he made it down the stairs and to his cabin. The metal of the handle bit minutely at his fingers, though they were still too numb to really register the tactile information. Once inside, he clumsily got out of his clothes, grabbed a soft cloth and with quick motions proceeded to rub down his body. Gradually encouraging blood flow with swift circular motions warmth began seeping into his limbs.

"Alfred."

Alfred discarded the fabric on his bed messily, hopping into a new pair of trousers and doing up the buttons on a new shirt.

"_Alfred_." Sharper. Alfred jumped, taking a full three seconds to snap out of his own little world, and look around. He blinked owlishly at Arthur. The merman loosely hung onto the tank edge with his fingers, staring at the captain from across it.

"I am bored."

Alfred just stared. …What was he supposed to say to that? At the blunt lack of reply the merman huffed with frustration, sinking lower into the water, and let go of the edge.

"No matter how polished the wood and neat the details, even a Captain's cabin becomes dreadfully dull after a while."

A chill that had nothing to do with the lingering night temperatures shot down Alfred's back. For a split second, green eyes flashed before him again.

"I want to be outside a little every day," the merman said with finality, though it only half registered with Alfred. His innards squeezed slightly, his own rib cage just a touch too small for him. For a moment they hang in silence, but when he again he was able to speak, all he managed was a pitiful;

"Why?"

Arthur frowned, shooting a glare at him and crossing his arms. "You are the one who always goes on about how they will get used to me and so on. But I fail to see how that is going to happen while I am in here. Humans have an innate tendency to fear the unknown, and hidden out of sight I will never become _known_, so… I…" the merman's rapid, huffed speech trailed off as he glanced at Alfred. "..I.. thought…"

Alfred's brows sat high on his forehead, nearly disappearing in his hairline, and he was few words away from openly gaping at the merman.

"You.." he said slowly. "You want to get to know my crew?"

"_No_," Arthur snapped. "I want your crew to get to know _me_."

For what seemed like an eternity human stared at merman.

"That," Alfred said slowly, an equally hesitant smile nearing his lips. "That is a good idea." Then, as he caught up with what had actually been said, he repeated it with more certainty. "Yes, that is a really good idea." Arthur didn't want to leave. He hadn't asked to be let go. At least not yet.

The merman fidgeted slightly under Alfred's intense attention, and a full smile finally came to Alfred's face. He knew he shouldn't push his luck, but while the whole situation felt dangerously balanced, joyous elation had come over him and with it a brief moment of recklessness. Corners of his mouth curling mischievously, he could not help verbally _poking_,

"Did it take you long to come up with this?"

Arthur twitched. Then glared. "It's more than you are capable of."

"What, come up with an idea?" Alfred said in a snickered. Arthur just snorted.

"No, thinking."

While the merman's scowl was still in place, a triumphant, borderline _teasing_, glint flashed through his eyes. In that moment, that one preciously short moment, it was as though the tense air between them had never existed at all.

Alfred swiftly got into the rest of his clothes, as a finish pulling on his coat with a flourish that made Arthur roll his eyes ever so slightly. "I'll see what I can do," Alfred said. "I won't be long." He gave the merman a lopsided smile before he left the cabin.

Soundlessly he opened the door leading below deck and peered down the stairs. His eyes gradually adjusting to the dark, he saw the silhouettes of his crew, asleep, hammocks swaying softly. Or that was to say, all except one, located roughly midways along the deck a man was crouched rolling up his hammock and putting it away. But he stopped, turned and looked up when Alfred gently closed the door and headed down the stairs – honestly, that man had the senses of a fox, Alfred thought absently to himself.

Using the rail and low ceiling he swung himself down, only bother to take the first two steps of the stairs. He landed soft and without a sound, tip-toeing between the sleeping men. Once in-distance to recognise facial expressions he saw it was indeed his quartermaster who was awake. Toris, in turn, just looked up at him with one lifted eyebrow, as he always would, at the captain's unnecessary but usual stair-antics.

"I need your assistance with something," Alfred whispered, leaning in close. Toris stopped what he was doing, frowning at the secrecy.

"Anything," he replied without even having to think, automatically glancing around at the same time.

"I want to get Arthur out on deck during day time." Toris stopped doing absolutely anything at all this time, standing stock-still. However, before he could ask if he had heard right, Alfred quickly continued. "It is still some time until we reach land, and a tank just seems too small a space to be confined to for so long. I will need your help in carrying Arthur, prepare a wet blanket and whatever else that may be required."

Toris was still for a moment, before nodding very slowly. Then a look of realisation lit up his eyes in a characteristic, yet uncanny, manner.

"Will you inform James as well?"

Toris nodded again. "Of course."

"Well then," Alfred hesitated. "That was all. …Dismissed." Toris smiled, giving yet another nod and a half salute. Alfred shifted from one foot to the other, looking around for possible eavesdroppers before he headed back up the stairs. Out on deck he greeted the men retreating indoors for some well-deserved sleep, and peering up at the sky for a hint of the weather to come, set course for his cabin.

He had barely lifted his foot, however, before he changed direction and instead sat down on the steps to the helm. Idly he watched the first few men shuffling out into the cool morning air. By the time the two he was waiting for emerged, Aaron had come down from the crow's nest, throwing a tired smile at Alfred, which was returned, the look-out's replacement already half up the mast.

Toris and James stopped in front of him, standing at peaceful attention, Alfred getting to his feet with a soft groan. With few words, the quartermaster was down below deck again while the navigator trailed after his captain to the cabin.

Well versed in the procedure, Alfred and James lifted the merman from his tank with ease, though following a brief debate, they changed the way they carried him. Instead of hauling Arthur along as a big kill between them, they instead lifted him in a chair position. Arthur had hesitated momentarily when they first lifted him, arms twitching, as though uncertain what to do.

"Scared?" Alfred had quipped, to which Arthur had snorted and swiftly put his arms around their shoulders. It was intended as a teasing comment, though underneath lay very real concern. The merman on the other hand retained a stubbornly blasé expression as James and Alfred climbed sideways onto the helm, set him up with the blanket prepared by Toris, and then parted to start each their tasks for the day.

Despite how the merman had expressed a complete lack of concern, Alfred believed he saw the merman stiffen when a short hour later the air began filling with voices and the busy noise of day. Keeping one eye on the horizon and one on his crew, Alfred observed them in anticipation. But it took the men surprisingly long to notice the merman huddled in a wet blanket on the helm. By then, the sun was high in the sky and Arthur had slipped back into reading peacefully. He was leaning against the rail, sitting atop the stairs with his tail curling down the steps.

However, when at last his presence _was_ discovered, it took only a matter of seconds from the first man spotted the merman until the last man was made aware. And just like that a strange hush fell over the ship. Work and conversation carried on but with a hollow aftertaste of slight pretence. Alfred said nothing. He stayed where he was, noticing every time a glance was discretely shot in Arthur's direction. By the awkwardly straightened back, Alfred knew the merman caught each one as well, though he was not lifting his gaze from the script.

Alfred leaned his elbows on the wheel, tin plate in hand. Toris had taken it upon himself to feed them, having brought breakfast after the blanket and bucket, a smaller meal before noon, and after midday he carried their dinner to them. But in a change to the other meals, Toris stayed on the helm this time. Hands loosely folded behind his back, he gazed out across ship and ocean with his captain.

"How are you doing?" he asked. Alfred chuckled.

"I am certain every man aboard is itching to demand the reason as to why the merman is suddenly visible among them," he said, Toris adding seamlessly;

"And as you have not even left your post for dinner, some are suspicious you do not want to speak to them."

Alfred shrugged. "And they would be correct."

From the corner of his eye he saw Toris' glance linger on him. "If I met with them right away, chances are the conversation could get heated. I am hoping that with a bit of time they will get accustomed to it to an extent, and then a more rational discussion can be had." He paused, absently biting the fork in contemplation. "Besides, when authorities create a big number out of something, people sometimes have a tendency to reacting more strongly to it, than if the matter had been treated as a normalcy from the start."

Toris shook his head slightly, giving a small, breathed laugh. "And yet some have the gall to claim you never think before you act." Alfred grinned.

"Well, it just might back-fire on me, that remains to be seen. But," he said, taking a mouthful of fish and potato. "To answer your question; we are doing fine," he carried on through his chewing. And as a spur of the moment thing added,

"Or what do you say, Arthur?"

The merman jerked, looked up to see the two looking back down at him. He sat frozen for a second, then, still slightly rigid, returned to the play. "Did no one ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?"

Alfred barked a laugh, though he was secretly relieved at the seemingly normal tone between them.

"Yes Toris, I think we are indeed doing just fine," he said. He followed one of the men with his eyes; the sailor was peering at the merman so often Alfred absently pondered if he would trip, inattentive as he was to what he was actually doing.

"At any rate," Alfred added after a while. "It seems our last meeting is currently still too fresh in their memory for any of them to approach us on the matter of Arthur. In a sense, they have already agreed to this happening." He stretched a bit, yawning. He didn't miss the alert glance the quartermaster threw at him, but ignored it. "I expect it will take some time before they feel they have the right to confront me on my choice just yet." He would have hoped Toris had not picked up on the grim undertone of his otherwise easy-going speech, had he not known from experience there was no use. He was indeed not feeling half as calm as he made himself look. But, at least Toris said nothing on it, just nodded. They fell into casual conversation, Alfred slowly finishing his meal.

Ultimately, it was the young look-out who made the tide-turning move, thoroughly surprising Alfred, Arthur, and the rest of the crew equally. At first, only an absent part of Alfred's mind registered Aaron coming out on deck, yawning wide and still pulling on clothes. The observation labelled as nothing-out-of-the-ordinary, it was not brought even close to the forefront of Alfred's mind. It was not until he heard the look-out's voice nearby that the young man caught his attention, and even then it took several long moments before realisation struck and he spun around: There, on the stairs, comfortably plopped down, sat Aaron.

"What are you reading?" he asked, earnest interest in his smile. Arthur just stared owlishly back at him, but though he said nothing, Aaron kept smiling, tilting his head curiously. Eventually, the merman supplied hesitantly,

"Shakespeare…"

"Oh really?" Aaron, sitting on the step below Arthur and on the opposite side, leaned in slightly in an attempt to peer at the script. He did not otherwise move closer, giving Alfred the distinct impression he was consciously keeping the distance between them for the merman's sake. "My ma is awfully fond of him," Aaron carried on. "She loves going to the theatre – which play have you got there?"

"…Anthony and Cleopatra…"

"I believe I took my ma to see that once. Her favourite is King Lear though," Aaron leaned back and rested his elbows on the step behind him to look up at the evening sky. "Don't ask me why. She has told me many enough times, but honestly," he snickered good humouredly, "I can't remember what she says half the time. Shakespeare never was my cup of tea."

Arthur was still staring at him, still clearly baffled. Aaron rested his head toward one shoulder, a calm about him as he looked at the merman. "What do you like about him?" he asked, though after some evaluation added, "or is it merely the only entertainment available on board?"

Alfred hadn't thought the merman would answer. After the initial shock, Alfred had tried to return to sailing, but could not help listening in. Staying for only a little while, Toris had silently collected his captain's empty plate, leaving the helm by the starboard stairs so as not to disturb the two occupying the port side.

"The stories are nice," Arthur muttered eventually. Aaron nodded, not appearing bothered by the bland reply.

"The first time mother saw one was when my father took her, long before I was born. She always says how she just _knew_, within the first ten minutes, that this was something she would love for the rest of her life." Aaron paused, chuckling quietly. "My father used to feign jealousy at that. Once, he even tried to threaten that he would never take her to another play by ol' Shakers. He never tried thatagain." he shook his head.

"Ever since I got this job, I have been trying to take her as often as I can. It is never _often_ of course, as I am usually at sea, but I make sure to search for new performances every time I return. Serving under one of the navy's most successful captains pays well enough. At least better than anything she can manage on her own."

"Does your father not take her anymore?" Arthur asked, pulled into the conversation despite himself.

"Oh he would love to, I am sure," Aaron answered easily. "But he passed away many years ago."

Soft pinks and oranges swaddled the sky, gentle as a mother would her babe. Clouds that had gradually gathered over the day supplemented the palette with wonderful hues of purple and dim blue, half hiding the low hanging sun.

"It is beautiful." Alfred had not expected the merman to say anything more. "His words," the merman added. He had closed the play, arranging the pages in their correct order, tracing the title of the front page with delicate fingers. "The human tongue is crude," he said, though the distain in his voice was only momentary. "Harsh and grating, limited. It does not matter how well-acquainted I become with it, this does not change." He paused, gazing at the script in his hands, deep in thought. "Shakespeare…" he said slowly, quietly. "It is the closest I have come to my own language through all these years on land. Still not even remotely the same, of course, but I still think his writings are… beautiful."

If Aaron was taken by surprise by the merman's sudden openness, he did not let it show. If Alfred felt a twinge of jealousy for not being the one on the receiving end of Arthur's sudden trust, he denied it.

* * *

><p>Just like that, little routines were created. When Eska came to relieve Alfred, Aaron had offered to help get Arthur back into the cabin, and Alfred had left him the task of the wet blanket and called James to help him carry the merman. To himself, he had reasoned it was because both Arthur and James were more accustomed to this. He had not given any instructions for Toris and James to be outside his cabin again the next morning, yet there they were. When they had finished preparing for the day, Aaron had sat down to have a brief chat with Arthur on his way to sleep after his night shift, and that was to become the norm several days onward.<p>

However, despite whatever golden moments occurred between the two of them every now and again, it did not stop the think silence that rolled over them as soon as they were left alone at the day's end. As the ship fell into a slow slumber Alfred did anything but. Suddenly painfully aware of every move, every sound, every breath he took, feeling as if Arthur's eyes were always burning on him. The few times he chanced glances in the merman's direction, though, Arthur never was.

For each step forward Alfred thought they took, it soon enough appeared to just have been two steps back in disguise. It was a bottomless source of frustration to Alfred. Of course he did his best to grasp at conversation, but it never amounted to much. In the end, it always just ended up following the same pattern as the miniscule bit of talk that had passed between them after Arthur's first day on deck:

Slowly logging the day and getting undressed, Alfred had searched for words to say. Any word at all. Anything. Something to fill the too quickly growing void. It had occurred to him then that so long as they had a planned course of action, a common goal, this _awkwardness_ would subside with barely a trace. But left to their own devises again, with nothing to do save wait for the next day, Alfred might just as well have had forgotten how to utter sounds all together.

"So," he had said feebly, voice surprisingly gruff and he had quickly cleared his throat. "How was your day?" …Never mind Alfred had actually been present through the entire day.

"It was good."

"Good." Alfred nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. "I'm glad." He had nodded some more, as though just to make sure, and the rest of his preparations for sleep had gone by in silence.

* * *

><p>The meek clutter of wooden dice was barely audible through the midday winds. Alfred couldn't help a tiny smile when, after the bids had been laid several times over and a long pause had followed it, Arthur said "I see you". Though really, what called the smile forth was the look-out's groan as the merman yet again had beaten him. The merman wasn't one for loud boastings, at least not here out in the open, but from several glances in their direction through the day, Alfred had a perfect mental image of Arthur's straight back and badly hidden smug expression. That was not to say Aaron never won, but the merman definitely had the upper hand.<p>

It had been not long after breakfast had been devoured that Aaron had plopped down on the stairs, bringing with him two cups and a small bag of dice. The merman had grasped the rules surprisingly quickly, and the two had spent the morning playing friendly rounds. And so it was that on Arthur's second day out on deck, he had been taught the basics of gambling.

Yet, the biggest surprise had had yet to come. It was not until after tea time, and had nearly caused Alfred to plain let go of the wheel in surprise. After roughly one and a half hour of coaxing, Aaron had successfully talked the merman into gambling over memories. Where they initially had not won anything, the winner now had the right to ask the other one question which had to be answered.

Alfred's little smile slipped away as he listened to Arthur asking Aaron about his childhood fascination with boats. The merman seemed genuinely interested in Aaron, hanging onto his every word, and often asking for elaborations the next time he won. Aaron on his side, Alfred noticed, carefully kept all his questions circling the period of Arthur's life that came before his time on land, never once touching on anything connected to the dusty pub. It had been with bitter joy that Alfred had watched Arthur smile and grow more and more enthused as he relaxed and delved into memories he likely hadn't visited in a long time. At some points he even seemed just as amazed as Aaron at his own stories.

Alfred hated the treacherously big part of him that racked his brain for a task he could order Aaron to attend. And despite the half of him that stubbornly wanted to turn away and shut them out, he could not keep himself from listening in intently.

"So," Aaron juggled the dices idly in one palm, finally the winner after four losses in a row and a long speech on boats, scrutinizing Arthur with a grim expression that wasn't actually serious as all. "Hmm," he mumbled, puckering his lips thoughtfully at the dirty white dices. Then he looked up with a smile. "Do merpeople tell bedtime stories?"

Arthur's eyebrows lifted. "Stories before we go to sleep? For the young?" Aaron nodded. "Well," Arthur said slowly, thinking. "Merfolk usually prefer to be awake during night-time." He paused, and then the most brilliant little smile fondly turned the corners of his mouth.

"It was only on days with the purest blue skies and bright sun that the grown would wake us to enjoy the warmth above the surface. But yes, in a sense I supposed we had _bedtime stories_, as you call it. Except I should probably call them _wake_time stories." Arthur tilted his head, still with that slight smile, and Aaron laughed.

"Makes sense."

"Every night, for a varying portion of time, the majority of the steam would go hunting while a smaller group was left to guard us, the young," Arthur said, Aaron cutting in with a fascinated _mer-sitting_ comment and another laugh. "On clear nights they would take us to the surface and we would drift on our backs as they told us stories of the stars."

"You have star signs and stories about them, too?" Aaron asked, clearly puzzled.

"Of course," was Arthur's reply, rather matter-of-factly. Alfred peered at them from the corner of his eye, watching as Aaron threw a glance up at the sk. The look out tilted his head thoughtfully. "But I don't think we have the same as you do," Arthur added after a bit, making the Aaron return his attention to him, eyebrows lifted.

"How do you know?"

This time however, Arthur did not readily reply, instead fidgeting slightly and moving stiffly in his seat. After a couple of hours' unhindered conversation, the abrupt hesitancy had Aaron straightening, leaning forwards. While Alfred could not actually see the younger man's face, he was certain there would be a look of concern on his face. Alfred heavily evaluated whether or not to tell the look-out it was high time for some sleep, lest he fall asleep in the crow's nest later, but Arthur spoke before he could;

"I were told some once," the merman muttered. "Star-stories." As Aaron still just watched him, Alfred had no other thought apart from a keen observation of how much closer the look-out sat to the merman than the day before. Then Arthur glanced for the first time in Alfred's direction. Briefly their eyes met, and Alfred tensed.

"I," Arthur verged on stammering. "...I'll tell you a few of our star-stories sometime, if you want." Alfred opened his mouth, pulled in a breath to speak, he-

"I would love to," Aaron said with a broad grin. "Do you at all have any of our star signs, or do you have them all just under different names, or-" In the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Arthur sag minutely with a small breath as the look-out went on, not pursuing the merman's source of human star-stories.

Alfred tuned the two out, focusing entirely on steering the ship instead. He was still irrationally tense, though was stoutly avoiding acknowledging this. After another hour or so, according to the half-hidden sun, Aaron finally left to get in just a few hours of sleep before his next shift.

Arthur returned to the play after first just watching the men on the main deck, and the evening rolled on without anything of particular interest happening. Toris and James helped Alfred get the merman back into the tank once the last light of day disappeared, and after an especially agonizing attempt at conversation Alfred went to bed. For only a moment he had had the thought to ask about the merfolk's star stories, but the words had caught in his throat and with an overly enthusiastic "_good night_" he had pulled the covers over his head.

And so, day two rolled into day three which slipped nearly unnoticed with grey weather and mediocre winds into day four. What had started as a surprisingly clear morning with only a thin grey belt in the distance from the day before, turned into a heavy down pour a mere hour or so later. With no visible borders between each individual cloud it looked most as a dull grey blanket that was rolled out towards them. A weeping duvet to the world.

Next to him, Arthur had suddenly begun shifting around. Discretely peering to the side, Alfred's eyebrows crinkled. First, Arthur had opened the blanket a bit, clearly with the intention to stuff the day's play – _King Lear_ – inside, though abruptly stopping before he got that far. He then tried rolling the play together, and holding it with both hands he curved his torso over it. This apparently didn't yielded a satisfactory result either, as Arthur looked around, fully turning his whole body to scrutinize the piece of quickly drenched ship within his reach.

Despite the increasingly gloomy thoughts that had been plaguing Alfred the past few days, nothing could stop the chuckle breaking through his mood at what he saw. He had to bite his lip, hard, at the merman and his increasingly frantic attempt at protecting the precious script from water damage. Shaking his head softly and with some difficulty swallowing it, Alfred summoned Toris instead.

He did not actually dare to call out for the quartermaster until minutes later, when he felt safe he could keep the mirth from bubbling in his voice, which meant he was left watching Arthur for yet another little while.

When at last Toris did step up onto the helm though, Alfred swiftly tasked him with securing the play back in his cabin.

"Do you want to return inside as well?" he added to the merman. Where that hesitancy in his voice came from, he had not the faintest clue. Arthur shrugged.

"Rain doesn't bother me," he muttered.

Alfred returned his gaze to the water with a last glance at the merman, a glance that lasted longer than it really had to. An odd tingle in his chest that made the back of his mind fuzzy. He allowed the feeling to surge pleasantly through him momentarily before pushing it away grimly.

Of course rain did not bother the merman. Any form of liquid wouldn't, Alfred was sure; it was all water in the end. That did not mean he could not – deep in the back of his mind where he could convince himself he wasn't hearing it – think that Arthur stayed on deck to stay with him.

"_Well, this is rich._"

The last whisper of elated tingles evaporated.

"_Wonder whit they would say if they found oot."_

Alfred was stone cold. The voice. The voice he had naively hoped he would not have to hear again, came with the wind, coiling around him. Taunting, goading, demanding. No, it hadn't been his imagination, but quick glances around told him he was the only one who had heard it. Alfred's lips pressed into a thin line. All at once he became acutely aware of everything around him, the rain turning his clothes dark, the wind whistling along rope and wood, that prickling notion someone was watching him.

"_That ye love him." _

Iain laughed. It was only brief, but loud, harsh, humourlessly, the sound filling the sails so they bulged. The cheer from the crew as the ship sped up was a twisted irony amidst it all; it made Alfred's head spin.

"_Donnae think I have nae seen ye." _

Teeth gritted Alfred glared defiantly straight ahead at the horizon. For what seemed an eternity but could only have been seconds, there was nothing. The smallest twitches ran through his body, muscles taut as he waited, listened. Then the voice came again, though far quieter this time,

"_How disgusting_." A beat. "_But I supposed this should make it easier. If ye truly care aboot him, let him go. Surely even ye can see this is nae life fer a child o' th' sea._"

Then it was gone. For the briefest moment everything was too loud, too bright, Alfred reeling back as the world seemed to crash over him with a vengeance. Scent, sounds, colours, lights, and there, bit ahead, there was a break in the clouds. Frail rays of sun slipped through, and amidst hues of dull grey, a soft rainbow spread out. Several of his men stopped, pointing overboard. Their scattered sounds of appreciation stood as a stark opposite to the echoes of nausea welling up in Alfred.

By the time he had closed his eyes and shook his head, the crew had already moved on. It was not as though rainbows were a complete rarity out on sea – if one leaned over the rail on a good day, the very spray chased up by the ship crafted millions of shattered rainbows of their own. Alfred pulled in a deep breath, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Arthur glancing at him. He wondered briefly if the merman had heard his brother. But no, the words had been meant for Alfred alone.

_Surely even ye can see this is nae life for a child of the sea. _

Little spikes of pain shot through his teeth as Alfred's jaw clenched too tight. He knew that. Of course he knew that. He looked at Arthur. The merman had scooted to the opposite side of his stair step and he was leaning against the railing. While Alfred could not see his face, he knew Arthur was looking out into the ocean through the neatly carved wooden beams. Little more than bars of a floating prison.

Alfred's entire body flinched away as though burned, and he turned to focus intently on the ship and ocean in front of him, almost managing to convince himself that what he did not see did not exist. He even called James to him for a casual discussion of their course and position of stars. If the navigator noticed his captain was distracted, or the fact that he had to repeat more than one thing twice, he said nothing of it.

However, not unexpectedly, no amount of distraction or hours later could erase that one question that seemed to swallow any and all other concerns and thoughts. He knew he would have to voice it out loud. One way or the other, he would have to. At least, he thought bitterly, this time he could get a proper word of good bye.

Alfred didn't notice when the navigator left him to his own thoughts on the helm, or when the man returned at the end of the day. He didn't say anything as he and James carried Arthur down, he didn't say anything as he slithered out of the wet clothes clinging cold to his skin. The only sound he made when he crawled under the covers were a hoarse _good night. _

Alfred said nothing through the eternal hours he remained awake, sleep staying away as though intentionally watching him at a distance in haughty mockery.

* * *

><p>"I agree," Alfred said, the opening of his mouth to talk finally letting the yawn he had clamped down the last hour escape. With him around the table was Toris and James, as well as the Boatswain and the cook. They were looking at maps, discussing the remainder of their voyage. It was not necessarily usual for the cook to be present during such a meeting, but the level of drinkable liquids they had left had yet again become an issue. Earlier the same day another set of barrels had been found completely empty. The meeting itself had been set off when Michael, the boatswain, reported the discovery to Alfred before dinnertime.<p>

Now they were in Alfred's cabin –Arthur eyeing them from the tank, as Alfred was not even close to the stage where he would leave the merman alone out on deck, no matter the peacefulness of the past few days.

For a few moments Toris observed him, his mouth opened with a small inhale, but then he closed it again. Next to the maps, Alfred's logbook lay open and he sifted through the last few pages once more.

"Well," he said. "We have been at sea for 63 days. During our last voyage from England to the colonies," he paused, looked up from the maps at James. The navigator flipped through a smaller leather bound book.

"It took us roughly another two-three weeks from our current position."

Alfred nodded mechanically. "With luck, we should not take much longer this time around, in which case the access to drinkables should not be an issue." He stifled another yawn, successfully this time. "Regardless," he signalled noncommittally in Toris' general direction. "A notice of rationing will still has to be made. In the end, no one knows the mood of wind and water other than Neptune himself."

For another few minutes, the five men stood in silence, looking at the maps. Alfred snapped himself back to reality. "Very well then," he said with tired finality. "Dismissed." There was a chorus of _yes sir_'s accompanied by salutes, and four out of five queued out the door. Toris remained behind.

"What you agreed to was to let Corey attempt distilling fresh water from salt water," he said. Alfred, having drifted off into his own thoughts again without noticing, twitched, meeting Toris' eyes. Then the quartermaster saluted again and he too exited the cabin.

Alfred groaned. Nothing escaped his quartermaster. For now, all he could do was count himself lucky the man had decided not to verbally point out that he had lost out on the majority of their meeting, which would then have turned into speeches – _nagging_ – about how important sleep is.

He rubbed his face with one hand, the other leaned against the table. He breathed a short chuckle. One would never guess from first impression, or the hundred-and-twentieth, for that matter, the cook's experimental streak. As Aaron would repeatedly prove, Corey was a man with little patience for tomfoolery or jokes at the expense of efficiency when it came to work and duties. But, as a man with pride and love for his trade, he had a hidden fondness for trying things others deemed either unnecessary or impossible.

With a shake of the head and a last smile at his crew in general, Alfred straightened. His back popped and he grimaced, stretching, then with a sigh followed his men's trail out on deck. He didn't really have to, knowing Eska was at the helm and that he might just as well remain where he was. But, in the absence of others, all and everything else of importance promptly vanished from Alfred's mind, and he could not help the bitter relief at escaping the silence between the merman and him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>

**Ugh. This chapter, by far, has been the most difficult one to write so far. It just won't straighten itself out, in the end I just had to give up and post it as it was. To top it off it has not been betaed, so please bear with me and any mistakes you spot. **

**That said, thank you so so much to everyone who reviewed and favourited. I can't believe the amount of you who have returned after a whole year of nothing. You have no idea how humbling that is. And to all you new readers: thank you so much for picking up this story too. **

**Quite a few reviewed as guests without accounts, so I couldn't reply directly back to you, but each and every single review I received mean so so much to me, I can't even put it into words. **

**I hope you all somehow enjoyed this pitiful chapter, and hopefully the next will be better. **

**Thank you all so much!**


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